


Il Doctore

by HermaiaMoira



Category: Hannibal (TV), Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Anal Sex, Branding, Cannibalism, Crucifixion, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Gladiators, M/M, Pegging, Slavery, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaiaMoira/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 75 B.C.E., near the city of Rome, Will is a wealthy senator's son. He sees a gladiator fighting in the arena, who they call "Hannibal the Cannibal" and he becomes enamored. Hannibal is a slave, but he is still crafty and manipulative, able to pull strings to get what he wants. All the while, Spartacus and his rebels wage war on slavery and all of Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Devil in the Pit

**Author's Note:**

> Because so much time has passed since I last updated this fic, I have decided to re-post it as a single volume with chapters. For those who have been reading from months ago, the fourth chapter is new.
> 
> Some helpful words:  
> Villa--a mansion in the countryside  
> Vilicus--the head slave of a household, who oversees other slaves in the house and field  
> Domus--an upper-class house in the city  
> Dominus--master  
> Familia urbana--slaves who have a higher social status than most free citizens, due to the status of the household that owns them  
> Villa rustica--a large house on a farm  
> Libertas--earned freedom  
> Sine missione--without mercy. A fight that only ends when one of the opponents is killed.

In a villa, on a vast plantation in the Roman countryside, a wealthy nobleman and Senator by the name of Servius Capanna raised his young boy in great comfort and tranquility. The boy was called Will, a noticeably foreign name that showed his father's general disdain for Roman things. Even as a high-born politician, Servius often criticized aspects of Roman culture that he found distasteful. Among these avarices, the arena games received his most earnest vitriol. He spoke of them as a great evil, never to be watched or spoken of as a fan, only to be condemned. He taught Will that wise men do not relish cruelty. Violence was to be used only by those who must fight to defend themselves or their people, but even then it was a somber necessity. To view it as entertainment was a grave sin. He explained to him that many gladiators were slaves, captured from their homes, and forced to kill or be killed while the crowd laughed and cheered at their fear and pain and death. Will nodded as his father spoke, and he understood his words.

Even so, when Will found himself in the company of other young people, they would ramble on in awe over the excitement of the games and the godlike warriors who danced upon the sands, advertising to all of Rome their athleticism and skill and the beauty and wonder of masculinity. Etchings of famous gladiators were passed around among them, and Will would sometimes sneak one into his villa and keep them hidden in the hollow of an old sweet chestnut tree in their garden. From time to time, he would look at the images and run his fingers over the ridges of the etchings, imagining what these glorious men looked like in reality, with their muscles gleaming in three dimensions, and their warrior cries piercing the sky above the arena. His first signs of emerging into adulthood were discovered in that garden, as he looked over the pictures of their powerful frames, the sinews of their bodies represented in the vaguest lines. He felt his belly twitch and his cock begin to swell for the first time beside the tree, and he learned to touch himself as discreetly as possible through the folds of his clothing while he gazed at his hidden contraband. Eventually, the need to please his father and earn his respect kept him from attempting to gain more etchings, so the ones he owned became much worn. Undoubtedly, he thought, as the years past, the men in these images were no longer fighting and were either dead or had earned their freedom somehow. He wondered about them, but he didn't dare to mention their names to anyone else for fear that his father would find out that he was following the sport and be ashamed of him.

Will's father was never ashamed of him. The boy was extraordinarily sensitive and thoughtful, with an intellectual curiosity that was a joy for Servius to help cultivate. He watched him, and never felt disappointed at how slowly his body grew over the years, but relished his expanding knowledge and emotional maturity. He never knew of his son's deeply hidden interest in gladiators, but it was no secret to him that the boy's glances would linger more over a male slave in a tunic tending to the fields, wiping the sweat from his brow and neck and stretching his sore back with his hips thrust forward, than they would over a softly curved maiden whose wraps would drape open at her breasts as she poured water into his bath. It was no matter, but Will's mother, Lydia, had died before bearing Servius another son and he feared that his family line would come to an end if Will did not take a wife for the purpose of creating heirs, even if he continued to take pleasure from men. He also noticed that Will was a very solitary and nervous person, preferring the company of the family dogs and a stack of books to that of people outside of the household. If Servius was finally able to drag him to a function or senatorial meeting, it was not unusual for him to greet someone, then reach out saying, "This is my son, Will" and find that he wasn't beside him, but wandering off by himself, snooping through empty rooms and hallways.

When Servius came down with a dreadful fever that would not break, and his physicians could not discover the cause nor the remedy as it sapped his life away from him, he brought young Will to his bedside.

"My dear boy," he said, "you are everything I could have ever wanted in a son. My only disappointment is that I could not see you as a man. I know that you will become a proud example of our family's lineage."

Will sat beside him and lay his head on his father's heaving chest. He shook with sobs.

"And your children will carry on that greatness, I'm sure of it."

Will sat up. "Father..."

Servius stopped him.

"My boy, do not fear. Marriage is a thing of politics. Find a woman who is wise and good, who will help you raise your children the way I have raised you. It does not matter if you feel physical love for her."

Will wiped the tears from his face and looked down at the floor.

"It only takes one time to plant your seed, anyhow." he said, laughing weakly. "They haven't teeth down there, I promise you."

Will sniffed a laugh.

"A woman who is a good companion and mother is a pearl," Servius told him. "Too many foolish men shuck empty oysters because they've followed the desires of their cocks. You benefit from clarity of perception, shall we say."

Will sighed.

"And your shyness will fade with age as well," Servius continued. "It won't be long before you are engaging in debates with fellow intellectuals in the forum."

"All right, father," Will promised, but his heart felt even heavier.

"I love you, boy," Servius said, placing his hand on Will's chest. "Please do not let me leave this world without you realizing how much I love you; no matter what."

"I love you too, father."

Will embraced him again, crying softly, and did not lift his head from his father's chest until it moved with breath no more.

 

The years passed, and when Will came of age, his father's fortune, land, slaves, and other property were bestowed upon him. Before his death, Servius had written to some of his very high-standing political friends, praising his son for his intelligence and potential. He had barely entered his twenties when he began to receive invitations from these friends of his father, urging him to come and meet them or attend senatorial parties and help him secure a future in politics. The sight of a new letter in the mail began to feel to Will like spotting a death-omen. He was forced to rely almost entirely on his vilicus, Octavio, to read his mail and respond for him, as well as oversee the slaves and guard soldiers. Contrary to what Servius claimed on his death-bed, Will's shyness didn't fade with age. Rather, he became even more solitary. Days would pass without anyone in the household seeing the man, aside from those who brought food to him or his dogs.

He did, however, write letters to local institutions, ludi, and government officials arguing points and offering suggestions. As one who studied law and literature, and loved the subjects with great enthusiasm, he could not resist expressing his opinions. Unfortunately, his cleverness and insight only made the people who read his letters and considered his suggestions more eager to meet the young man. It wasn't long before they came calling, without invitation.

Among these was Marcus Flos, a wealthy academic whose patron rhetoric school and library had been inundated with letters from Will in recent years. He had at first been put off by the young man's persistence, but found him remarkably well-spoken for someone of his age. He brought with him his daughter, Aeliana.

"I read your letter to my father concerning the need for universal literacy in Rome," Aeliana said.

"She agreed with you," Marcus muttered with a smirk. "I can't say I cared for your tone, but you brought up some fair points."

Aeliana's hair seemed to have no ends. The dark curls looped throughout colorful ribbons and into itself. It seemed silky, like it in itself was made of thousands of very fine ribbons. She had a classical but simple beauty, and a softness to her that Will found surprisingly approachable. In fact, she was the only reason he didn't shrug away from Flos' intrusion into his villa. The three of them walked alongside the courtyard pool together.

"Will, your father, Servius, was a great benefactor to our institutions, as I am sure you well know," Marcus said.

Will's annoyance over the uninvited guest had begun to fade upon meeting Aeliana, but he wished for Marcus to get to his point quickly.

"Yes, as I'm sure you still know, my father's inheritance continues to provide funds to your academic research," he answered.

"Quite right," Marcus conceded. "And we are grateful. But certain acquisitions, property, etc... Some of these acquisitions require more than just funding, they require an ear in the senate. I shudder to make academia a political matter, but I'm afraid that is what it has come to."

"I do not see how I can help you with that problem. I am not a senator."

"Due to your father's status and the friends he left behind, it is no secret that you already have a seat with your name etched on it."

"I have no interest in claiming that seat."

"Well," Marcus answered, "perhaps a word or two to the right person, on our behalf... would not go unappreciated."

"I'll do what I can," Will said.

"Gratitude. Your father's assistance in this regard was invaluable to the literati of Rome. I'm sure he would encourage you to do the same."

Will cringed at his manipulative attempt, and Aeliana stepped in to ease the tension.

"Do you have interest in the games, Will?"

His face lit up.

"Games?"

"Gladiators," Aeliana replied, "the arena."

Will had never heard a woman mention the games, and it had been years since he'd spoken of them with his boyhood acquaintances.

"I... yes. I..." he stammered for a moment and looked at Marcus, who seemed disinterested in the subject but not in any way offended. "I have never been, to be honest."

"Oh," Aeliana said, "if we are being honest, neither have I! I only bring it up because Senator Porcius spends most of his free time in the arena."

"I know of Senator Porcius. My father did not care for him."

"He is an idiot gambler and squanderer," Marcus interjected. "But he has many friends."

"My father's words on the man, as well," Will said.

"Senator Porcius cannot stay away from the games, nor can he resist placing bets," Marcus explained. "He has promised a lanista, Fredo Ligare, a sizable investment in order to cover his bad habits. A promise he can no longer afford to honor. If someone were to take over his investment, free him from his obligation..."

"That's where I come in," Will said through gritted teeth.

"Perhaps the money could come from your father's fund, placing you under no further burden," Aeliana suggested. "And, you will gain an investment in a prominent ludus, which may or may not be valuable to you."

Will looked out in the garden and stared at the chestnut tree.

"I suppose, though, since you do not follow the games..." she said.

"I may have to take a look for myself," he interrupted.

"Wonderful!" Aeliana said. Marcus smiled at her proudly. His daughter had a way with people who he found difficult.

Aeliana touched Will on the arm and he looked startled at her familiarity, but not altogether put off by it.

"I know Porcius' daughter, Rufina," Aeliana said. "I cannot say we are... close. But she loves the games as much as her father, and is always looking for someone to accompany her when he is unable to attend himself."

Will felt goose bumps shoot up from where her hand was placed. Was this an invitation? Not to a dreaded party, but to a game. A game in the arena where the gladiators he dreamt of as a boy could finally be witnessed in the flesh!

"Would you like to come with us tomorrow? Observe Fredo's gladiators for yourself?"

"I think..." Will stammered, "That could be doable."

* * *

 

Upon arriving at the amphitheater, Will found himself wary to enter. His father's inheritance invested in this? One of the things he considered most loathsome in the world? Excitement and anxiety caused his chest to hurt. Then he heard Aeliana's voice call out his name.

"Will!"

He turned to face her direction, near the entrance to the upper-class seating area. She was standing next to a pretty young woman with fiery red curls and an eyebrow raised at Will. He approached them.

"Rufina, this is Will Capanna, son of Senator Servius Capanna. Will, this is Rufina Porcius, daughter of Senator Cassius Porcius."

Rufina offered a raised hand and Will looked at it for an awkward moment before kissing it. Rufina seemed amused.

"Aeliana tells me that you have not been to a gladiator match before."

"This is true," Will replied. He didn't care for the look perpetually planted on Rufina's face. She seemed to be barely containing a laugh, at a joke only she was in on.

"It isn't for everyone," she warned. Those from villas out in... The countryside... they often find themselves appalled by the spectacle of true combat."

"I can appreciate a spectacle," he replied.

"Good, because are you aware of who fights in the primus today?"

"I am not," Will answered.

"Hannibal," Rufina told him with a nasty grin. When he didn't respond, she said, "Hannibal the Cannibal? You've heard of him, haven't you?"

Will cleared his throat and found himself looking past Rufina, as he often did with people who he found abrasive.

"I confess that I am not familiar with the names of gladiators," Aeliana said, trying to spare Will.

"Well," Rufina breathed. She looked over at Aeliana. "Come, let's have a seat and we will speak further."

They found their seating in a private loft directly above the fighting area.

"My father reserves this balcony," Rufina bragged. "He is here often."

"Yes, so I've heard," Will muttered.

Rufina shot him a glare.

"So tell us more about this Hannibal the Cannibal," Aeliana interrupted.

"That is the man," she said, pointing up to a large tapestry hanging along the wall of the arena, etched with the likeness of a very intimidating man. He clutched two swords, which were plunged into the ground, his face was smeared with blood, and his teeth were bared in a cruel snarl."

Will felt a thrill at seeing the classic style of gladiator depiction art that he had come to know very well as a boy. And to see the real gladiator! His spirits instantly lifted.

"He is most famous for his unusual victory-ritual."

"I prompt you further, against my better instincts," Will replied, laughing and glancing at Rufina. She looked thrilled by the promise of sensationalized violence, so far from her own coddled existence.

"He eats them," She said.

Will and Aeliana were silent for a moment.

"Eats them?" Will asked. "You mean that he bites them in battle?"

"No, I mean that he eats them. He removes their organs and devours them, raw, in front of the spectators."

Will's face paled. He looked up at the etching of Hannibal once more. He could now see that the smear of blood on his face was emerging from his mouth, and his bared teeth were covered in the red stain. His fangs were brutal and the madness in his eyes suddenly seemed very real to him.

"Horrifying!" Aeliana said. "It's a wonder they allow him to do such a thing!"

"Is it?" Rufina asked. She gestured at the excited crowd. Some were wearing false wooden fangs, some with the area around their mouths painted red. They held haunches of meat from the vendors, waiting eagerly to bite into them as soon as Hannibal's victory cued them to do so. A little girl perched on her father's shoulders was jokingly gnawing his hand as he laughed and called out "ow, my little cannibal, spare me a finger or two!"

Rufina's sharp laugh reached Will's ears.

"I warned him, the arena is not for lily-skinned country boys who lounge at the poolside all day," she said to Aeliana.

He forced a chuckle and a grin.

"Rufina, you promised a spectacle, and that is precisely what I mean to enjoy today."

"Good news! I will call out to Hannibal and inform him to offer you a mouthful!"

Will laughed, but the thought of human organs, raw and tasting of coppery, salty blood, made him feel sick. He pushed the thought away and wracked his mind for an excuse to leave his seat just before Hannibal's ritual. He could think of none that would convince Rufina, who was already eyeing him with a sadistic gleam. Any sign of weakness at this time would send her into a fit of giggles and mockery. No, he must bear it.

The announcer stood again and addressed the crowd, which quickly fell to silence as they knew what was about to be said.

"And now, the primus! From the deserts of the Near-East, a nomadic warrior unmatched with the blade: Khalif the Sand-Dragon!"

The loud cheering brought an emerging headache to Will's attention. He closed his eyes for a moment, but then joined his companions in observing the gladiator. He had an olive complexion, beautiful long black hair, and was dressed in exotic garb that suggested a foreign land. He remembered reading in his books of the people who live in the hot blowing sand beneath a dangerously burning sun, and how they would dress in light-colored draping linens that covered every inch of skin for protection from the elements, and billowed to keep their bodies cool and wick away sweat. This man wore barely more than a leopard-spotted loin cloth and leather etched harness surrounding and drawing attention to his impeccably toned torso and chest. The crowd seemed to love his inexplicable costume.

"To fight him, the devil from the farthest mountains of northern Siberia, where no civilized man dares to tread: Hannibal... the Cannibal!"

The crowd erupted into madness. People rose from their seats to scream down at the man emerging from the underworks. They seemed to hate him, and at the same time, adore him for making them hate him so strongly, so pleasurably. Some cried out to Khalif to steal the devil's fangs, while others asked him which parts of him tasted best.

Will leaned forward to look at the infamous creature.

The man who walked slowly out into the open was not what he expected. He was tall, but no giant. He had golden brown hair that was swept up at the sides into a small ponytail. Hard leather wrapped around his waist to protect his gut, but his chest, covered in soft hair, was left bare. He had fine sculptural features, with high cheekbones and a natural smile that played at his lips. Will would actually describe him as quite handsome, if he had not known that he feasted on the organs of his enemies in front of screaming fans. Hannibal looked around at the crowd and grinned to show his teeth, which caused Will to lean forward even more. The top row of his teeth was flat across, making his canines protrude a bit, but they were hardly fangs. Will asked himself if he was disappointed, but he couldn't say that was true. There was something far more interesting to him about a distinguished-looking gentleman with a devil's disposition.

The fight began and the two gladiators appeared quite evenly matched. They sparred for what felt like hours to Will, each nearly vanquishing his enemy at several points. The fans were screaming themselves hoarse, but Will was silent. This is what he had dreamed of, all those years ago, when he was stroking his young cock in his hidden place in the garden, imagining two embodiments of masculine beauty and strength engaging each other in brutality and force. Even now, he felt himself stirring beneath the liberal folds of his clothing. He spread his legs a bit as he sat, perched at the edge of the chair, thankful for the looseness of the garments he wore. If he came any further forward in his seat he would undoubtedly lose his balance and topple off. Once he realized that it was little more than his bent legs that supported him, but he didn't mind. His legs were aching, his cock was hard, his bottom lip was nearly bloody from being chewed, and the muscles in his neck were strained and tight, but he could barely notice all of that for more than a second between near-kills in the pit below. He was in paradise.

It was true that the gladiators were evenly matched, with one exception. Khalif was a man, and men grow tired after intense fighting and scores of minor injuries. Hannibal did not seem to grow tired. He did not slow down and he barely seemed to react to his opponent's strikes. It was only a matter of time, and Will was the first to notice this. He knew who would win far in advance from the outcome. When the Sand-Dragon took but a second to stagger from fatigue and shortness of breath, he was cut down with a long gash across his chest. He fell to the ground, desperately pressing his wounds to restrict bleeding. Hannibal kicked away his sword. Looking up at him, Khalif began to shake, perhaps from the pain of his wound or perhaps from sheer terror of the man's reputation. He signaled his surrender to the editor and to his opponent, but the look on his face bore the truth that emerged from Rufina's mouth next.

"They will not spare him; they know what we have come to see. The editor is not foolish enough to deny the crowd what they were promised."

Will swallowed and looked longingly at the editor. At this point, even an execution seemed preferable to watching a man be eaten alive. To his horror, the editor stepped forward and pointed his thumb downward. The audience roared and everyone stood, pushing and struggling for a better view. Hannibal smiled and then dropped down upon his opponent. At this point, the crowd suddenly became silent, and Will wished to the gods they hadn't, for now he could hear the anguished screams of Khalif the Sand-Dragon. Hannibal held him down while he pulled out a small knife from his waist and slit the fallen gladiator from chest to navel. Khalif could not even struggle at this point as his body was flayed open. His screams drowned into gurgling blood in his throat. Will could not look away, as much as he wished he could. Hannibal dug into the man's organs, pulling them out and weighing them in his hands as his victims still twitched with spasms. He chose his heart and lifted it up to show it to the crowd. They cheered and chanted, "Bite, bite, bite!"

And he did. Those with meat sunk their teeth into the lamb and fowl, pretending that they too were devouring their foes. Rufina laughed and cheered. Aeliana was nowhere to be found, but Will hadn't noticed. His eyes were fixed on the ferocious man beneath him, consuming human flesh with the enthusiasm of a man starved for weeks.

When Will stood after the events were over and the people were filing out of the amphitheater, he nearly lost his balance from lightheadedness. Rufina was already beginning to walk away, so he followed quickly.

"How did you like it?" Rufina asked.

"Oh," Will answered breathlessly, "it was incredible!"

"Are you an addict yet?"

"I believe I am." He smiled and fanned his robe against his chest to cool himself.

"Ah, but you know what I realized, when I saw Hannibal eat that poor dragon's heart?" Rufina asked.

"What's that?"  The image of the blood pouring out of the heart and down Hannibal's chin and neck as he bit into it came back into his mind suddenly.

"I'm hungry! Let's get something to eat!" She clapped Will on the back, and suddenly Will leaned against the wall and vomited on the ground.

They found Aeliana outside waiting for them. She stood with her hands across her chest, clasping each arm and looking downward. She said nothing to Will but came along when Rufina insisted that they eat at a nearby place that catered to arena spectators of means.

"I do not partake of the flesh, unlike today's entertainer," Rufina said. "But I have heard the lamb is well-cooked here, should you be so inclined."

But when Will sat at the table, he merely picked at the flatbread, figs, olives, and cheese that Rufina had ordered. She laughed at him, as he feared she would.

"I am not very hungry today," he said.

"Not even after emptying your stomach in the amphitheater?"

Will blushed.

"What's that?" Aeliana asked, and Will's embarrassment grew as Rufina explained to her how he had vomited. He looked up at her, expecting to see disgust, but instead Aeliana smiled at him warmly and reached out across the table to put her hand on his.

"I guess the games aren't a pastime that suits you," Rufina said, popping an olive into her mouth.

"No," Will answered. He looked into Aeliana's eyes and found approval there. "I guess they aren't."

"Rufina," Aeliana said, "might we be able to meet with your father later? Will would like to have words with him. Words that I believe he would be happy to hear."

"Is that so?" Rufina replied. "We can venture to my home on Palatine Hill."

The Domus Porcius was smaller than Will's own villa, but many times more opulent. The furnishings and numerous slaves suggested wealth that, according to Marcus, the senator didn't really have. It rang to Will of desperation. He could understand why Marcus and Aeliana believed his debt-purchase would hold great sway over Cassius.

"Father, you have guests," Rufina called nonchalantly as she dropped herself on a lounge in the atrium. "Friends I have come back with from the arena."

"You were at the arena?" Cassius called back. His voice was nervous.

"Of course," she replied. Cassius entered the room and crossed over to her without greeting Aeliana or Will. He leaned forward and whispered to her.

"Did you encounter Fredo?"

Rufina rolled her eyes.

"No, father, we took the lower loft."

Cassius sighed and looked back at his guests.

"I beg your pardon, have we met?"

"Good day, Senator, I am Aeliana Flos, daughter of Marcus Flos."

"I do not know of him," Cassius said abruptly. He looked at Will, whose eyes were wandering around the room. Cassius seemed irritated by his lack of interest in him, while in his own house.

"My companion is Will Capanna, son of the late Senator Servius Capanna," Aeliana said. Cassius took on a more welcoming disposition.

"You are Servius' son?"

"Yes," Will answered. "You remember him?"

"Why yes, he was constantly at my throat in the senate decrying the wickedness of gladiatorial games."

Will chuckled.

"Ah, yes, my father was no fan of the arena."

"Forgive me," Cassius apologized, "I did not mean to sound critical. It's just, Rufina saying you were at the games yourself..."

"Mm, that's quite all right," Will answered. He began to wander away, looking over the books on Cassius' shelves.

"That is why we are here today, Senator," Aeliana spoke for him. "We understand you have pledged investment to Fredo Ligare's ludus."

Cassius cleared his throat and ordered a slave girl to pour him a glass of wine.

"Yes, his gladiators... are the best in all of Rome."

"You want to rid yourself of this investment," Will stated bluntly.

Cassius scowled at him and Rufina sat up on her lounge.

"Rufina, go speak to your tutor."

She slowly left the room, staring at Will with no small amount of contempt.

"Sorry, I chose to move this conversation along," Will said. "I want to buy your investment."

Aeliana smiled at Cassius who was eyeing Will's actions with suspicion. He had begun to pull out books and flip through them, barely making eye contact with the Senator.

"Will has taken interest in the games," she said. "We could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"How so?" Cassius asked.

"My father needs assistance expanding his library, and acquiring property for another rhetor, and perhaps a center for philosophy. That requires senatorial reach."

"Is that all?" Cassius exclaimed, looking at Will in wonder.

"That is all," Will answered, slapping the book shut and putting it back on the shelf. "I'll buy the investment and you will help Marcus Flos, and Fredo Ligare will trouble you no more."

"Well!" Cassius gulped his wine. He looked quite relieved. "I'd say that we have an agreement."

The sky began to darken as Will and Aeliana rode in the carriage, and the early evening breeze was growing a bit chilly. Will noticed Aeliana draping a scarf around her shoulders and he stood to close the ceiling flap. When he glanced down again he noticed that she was looking at him, observing where his garments fell a bit loose on his body and revealed the profile of his stomach and chest. He sat down and met her eyes, but grew nervous and looked away just as quickly. The silence between them made him even more uncomfortable and fidgety.

"We are approaching my house," Aeliana said. Her voice had deepened, yet softened a bit. Will thumped on the carriage wall and the driver slowed to a halt.

Aeliana stood and Will helped her climb out of the carriage. As she took his hand and delicately stepped down into the street, she smiled at him with warmth that he found hopeful. An odd question materialized in his mind:  _How do you feel about children?_ But he kissed her hand and bid her goodnight.

That night, Will dreamed. He found himself in the middle of the arena. He realized he was naked, and looked around at the stadium, but was relieved to find the seats empty. He spread his arms out and walked, enjoying the feel of the sand on his bare feet and the warm night air on his body. There was no blood or gore staining the ground, only clean, white sand. He turned around, and suddenly realized that he was not actually alone. In front of him stood the cannibal gladiator. Will did not move. He was embarrassed of his nakedness in front of the warrior clad in leather, but could not bring his arms to cover himself. He stared into his eyes and found them startlingly interested. The gladiator's eyes traveled over the naked young man who didn't belong there, and he grinned. He rushed at Will and tackled him to his back upon the sand, pushing his arms above his head and straddling him. Will whimpered as the cannibal drew out his knife, glinting in the dream-world moonlight. He thrust the blade into Will's gut and made a short incision. Even in the dream, he could feel a sharp pain, but it manifested in a pleasurable burning sensation. A rough hand reached into the slit in Will's belly, and began to feel around inside. Will was horrified and cried out, but he could not look away from the gladiator's searching eyes and playful grin. He felt as though he were stroking him and pleasuring him from the inside of his body. Then he leaned down and plunged his teeth into his neck.

Will sat up in bed and clutched at his belly and throat. He looked around his room, streaks of early daylight coming in through the covered windows. Then he threw off his blankets and found them spotted with sticky wetness, something that hadn't happened to him since he was much younger. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. The name was perched upon his lips and he felt it slip out in a whisper.

"Hannibal."

* * *

 

Fredo Ligare was a dapper, well-to-do man whose infamous reputation he was either unaware of, or successfully ignored. Wealth made that easy for him. In addition, no amount of respectability could replace the joy he took in his kennel of gladiators. He walked with a silver, engraved cane which he enjoyed using to point out his specimens to prospective buyers and investors, rapping the head of it on their arms, legs, chests, and stomachs, as a trainer would show a fine-bred horse. When Will called on him at his villa outside of Rome, he smiled broadly at the name of Senator Cassius Porcius. The senator's cumbersome debt had made him very pliable and Fredo was nothing if not an opportunist. It was no weight on his ego, either. He walked with Will through his large atrium, twirling the cane in his fingers.

"You are a friend of Senator Porcius?" he asked.

"We are acquainted," Will replied. "I have agreed to take over his investment in your ludus."

Fredo stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at Will in surprise.

"I see. And I assume you have the means for this venture? The payments proved... a bit hefty for Senator Porcius."

He pointed his cane at Will, a gesture the young man didn't care for.

"And don't quote me on that," Fredo demanded.

"I don't intend to make payments; I intend to give you the lump sum, immediately." He held up a note that described the transaction, and Fredo examined it.

The lanista's entire demeanor shifted, not unlike Senator Porcius' had. Will was beginning to enjoy his father's inheritance, but it wasn't improving the opinion he held of people.

"In that case, Will Capanna, I am at your service."

"Might I be able to greet one of your gladiators, in person?" Will asked.

"Of course! Nothing would please me more!" Fredo answered, and the statement was sincere. "Which of my gladiators interests you?"

"Hannibal," Will answered after a nervous pause.

"Hannibal the Cannibal?" Fredo was incredulous. "No one ever wants to meet him!"

"I do... I would like to meet him. He seems..."

"Monstrous?" Fredo asked with a laugh.

"Oh yes, very. Would you mind?"

Fredo obliged and led Will out toward his ludus.

"I'm afraid if you are eager to peek at some rabid monster in a cage you will be sorely disappointed."

"Why is that?" Will asked.

"Hannibal's performances are just that. He knows what the audience wishes to see, and he gives it to them without holding back."

"That he doesn't" Will agreed, smiling.

"But in reality, the man is quite the gentleman slave. Clever, well-spoken, very useful when pressed for advice on matters that most slaves would not understand."

"He is educated?"

"Clearly," Fredo answered as they entered the yard of the ludus. Dusk had emptied the training grounds, but the noise of chattering and laughing gladiators at supper was still emerging from the bungalow. "None of us are quite sure what exactly happened to him in his past. He spends most of his time, when he is not training, pondering over any books I will bring to him."

Will was amazed to hear this, and felt the same complete lack of disappointment that he felt when first looking at Hannibal in the arena. This was a man with a mind, forced to claw and chew his way through life, and refusing to restrain his ability to do so.

"I once found myself trapped in a legal predicament," Fredo laughed nervously, "I... won't bore you with the details."

Will grinned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I found myself ranting to myself out here, in the ludus at daybreak, before any of the gladiators had risen. Except Hannibal, who heard me from his window, right over there."

He pointed his cane at a small rectangular barred window right above the ground. Will glanced in and noticed a soft glow emerging from it, while other windows were dark.

"He said, 'forgive me Dominus, I could not help but overhear.'" Fredo laughed. "That is Hannibal's way, 'could not help but overhear.' Always listening, that one. Anyway, he gave me some sound advice that I had not considered, and I soon found myself rid of the nasty situation."

"Legal advice from a gladiator!" Will remarked.

"Truly. He is an oddity through and through."

"How long have you had him?"

"Not long," Fredo replied. "But he has already proven himself. He has won every game, and has earned my trust as a confidant of sorts, second only to my honored doctore, Ren. In fact, Ren is getting on in years, and he has more than earned his freedom in retirement. Should he choose to retire, Hannibal may be my choice for the next doctore of this ludus."

"Wonderful!" Will said. "I am sure the doctore will be most grateful to be a free man."

"Yes, and I am honored to grant it to him for his many years of loyalty to this household. He was doctore for my father, as well."

The two entered the ludus, and the raucous came to a near-instant halt as Ren, a distinguished-looking man with gray and white hair, stood and called out to his gladiators for attention. They all came to their feet and bowed to Fredo.

"Dominus," Ren said respectfully, bowing his head, "I did not know you were paying us a visit tonight."

"A last-minute request from an honored guest." He patted Will on the back. "This is Will Capanna."

"Good evening, Magister," Ren greeted him with a bow. "How may I serve you?"

Will felt a ripple of excitement standing there, in a crowded room amongst fantastic warriors, all bowing their head to him.  _Had I not been the son of a Senator_ , he thought to himself,  _I would have been a lanista._

"I have merely come to see this great ludus, with my own eyes," he replied, grinning unabashedly.

"Where is Hannibal, Doctore?" Fredo asked.

"He has taken supper in his den, as is his custom, Dominus," Ren replied.

"Ah, a solitary man," Fredo said to Will. "Come, we shall have privacy, then."

Will followed Fredo down the cramped hall of the ludus bungalow. The hall was lined with barred doors for the slaves to be locked in after hours, but now they all stood open.

"Ren has two children by his wife, who is now deceased," Fredo said. "I have sent them away to a household where they can learn basic literacy, etc. Things that cannot be well-learned at a gladiator ludus. When Ren retires, he can join them and they will be in a better position to support their father in old-age."

Will was surprised at the admirable actions of Fredo. It was clear that he had strong affection for the old doctore.

As they approached Hannibal's cell, Will felt it hard to swallow. His heart began to palpitate in an uncomfortable rhythm. He had been surrounded by slaves all of his life, some of them even quite beautiful, who waited on him hand and foot, and he had been above them. This felt different. Now, he felt vulnerable and small.

"Hannibal," Fredo announced his presence, and the gladiator stood to his feet. He bowed and said "Dominus" in a splendidly deep voice touched by a foreign accent that Will could not place.

"This is Will Capanna, son of Senator Servius Capanna. He has invested in this ludus, in place of Senator Porcius. He wished to meet you, personally."

"Magister Capanna, it is an honor," Hannibal spoke with another bow in Will's direction.

"The honor is mine," Will said in a voice that was more lilting than he had intended. He had little patience or experience with introductions in the past, and now, when he actually wished to impress, he felt inadequate. He saw a faint smile twitch at the edge of Hannibal's lips and felt his own face grow warm. He prayed to the gods that a blush had not appeared on his cheeks.

"Forgive me if this is impertinent, Magister," Hannibal said. "But I noticed you have a Frankish given name. Have you ancestors from the Germanic region?"

Will looked surprised for a moment and then said, "My father admired the cultures of the North. It is as simple as that, I'm afraid." He sniffed a laugh and Hannibal nodded.

Will wished he would continue speaking, for he had nothing else to say and was feeling very awkward. Occasionally, he would accidentally let his eyes drift over the body of the gladiator, clad in the simple brown linens of a slave at leisure. He imagined his own slight frame and lesser stature pressed underneath Hannibal's weight and strength, pushing him down into the sand and having him completely at his disposal. Will cursed himself for allowing his thoughts to venture there, at this time, while he stood in front of the man himself as well as Fredo Ligare. He tried his best not to tremble as Fredo stepped closer to Hannibal, encouraging Will to do so as well.

"Do you hail from Siberia, as your introduction claims?" Will asked.

"Not quite," Hannibal explained and Will noticed that he was returning his examining gaze. The generous folds of his noble clothing hid his body, but he felt as though Hannibal could see through them. "I was born and raised amidst the Gautoi, but I traveled far before my capture, to the East among the Dian and finally to Roman territory."

Hannibal was making Will feel ignorant, something he didn't often experience before his peers, let alone a slave. "The Dian? Of China?" he asked, trying to show his ability to follow what the gladiator was saying. He didn't know who the Gautoi were, but he had read literature about the East. "I imagine your fighting technique was much influenced by your travels. Were you a warrior? A mercenary, perhaps?"

"I took part in various rebellions," he answered. "It is what led to my capture, eventually."

"Gods above, Hannibal!" Fredo scoffed. "The Magister wishes to know of your fighting, not of your tedious travels."

Will thought he saw an ephemeral snarl pass over Hannibal's face, but Fredo did not seem to notice.

"You needn't engage him in polite introductory chit-chat, my dear Capanna; he is a gladiator, not a Consul."

Will swallowed and sub-consciously wished Fredo into non-existence. But there he stood.

"Forgive me, Magister," Hannibal bowed. "To answer your question, yes, my fighting was influenced by foreign tutelage. I feel that gives me an advantage over less-experienced opponents."

"Hannibal uses maneuvers that other gladiators have never witnessed," Fredo bragged. "It takes them by surprise, fools them into thinking they know what to expect."

"Very clever," Will said.

"All warfare is based on deception," Hannibal responded, looking directly into Will's eyes. "“Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate.”

"You have read Sun Tzu!" Will said, unable to hide his astonishment.

"Of course," Hannibal answered. "Training physically is a mere fraction of combat. One must train his intellect as well, or the body will flail aimlessly."

Will could not bear it anymore. He wanted to take this man away from his dank cell, into his own villa, show him his library of well-worn books, and listen to his tales of travelling in lands he had never even heard of as he sat at his feet...

He was snapped out of his reverie by the heavy hand of Fredo clapping him on the back.

"Didn't I tell you? An educated gladiator, what a novelty!"

Hannibal looked away.

"Come again during the day, my friend," Fredo continued, ushering the reluctant Will away from Hannibal's cell, "and I will show you the grounds of the ludus and you can watch my slaves train. You will also be able to witness the fine Doctore in action."

"I would enjoy that," Will answered.

Hannibal peered out of his small window as Will left the ludus. He stared at the back of the young man's bare legs as he walked away. When he could no longer see him or hear the bragging of his dominus, he sat at the edge of his cot, eyes darting back and forth with his thoughts.

Will dreamed again that night. He was lying on the ground before the tomb of his father, immobilized. Hannibal approached, dressed in the armor of a great Chinese general. He bent down and effortlessly picked Will up, draping him over his arms so that his head lay against the man's breastplate. Will lifted his own arm to place it around Hannibal's neck, barely strong enough to clutch at him, but it was not necessary. His gladiator was strong and he knew he would not be dropped. He cast a glance back at his father's resting place, but closed his eyes and relaxed into Hannibal's arms as they walked away from it.

When Will awoke, he felt a newfound eagerness. He remembered what his father had said about taking a wife and thought he knew what he had meant. He had often heard of high-standing men who enjoyed the private company of both men and women and were not defamed for it, as long as they had heirs to pass their status onto. There was no reason he could not have everything he wanted. He thought of Aeliana, the lovely, amiable woman who could speak for him at insufferable parties and functions and walk with him out to the garden to see their children running and playing with the family dogs. Then he could return to his private study and find his personal advisor Hannibal, waiting to engage him in conversation and perhaps more...

Will climbed out of his bed and dressed himself without calling for an attendant. Today he would try to claim his future happiness.

* * *

 

The attendant to the domus of Marcus Flos answered the door, and Will was immediately escorted indoors. Marcus greeted him with enthusiasm and a generous hug. He had clearly heard from Senator Porcius already.

"I owe you much gratitude, Will," Marcus said, "This endeavor will certainly increase the literacy of Rome. Perhaps even... universally?" He winked at him.

Will laughed.

"I can't believe you mean that, Marcus."

"Ah, perhaps my daughter's words are beginning to influence me. You have certainly sparked her interest, dear boy."

Will looked at him, and Marcus noticed the young man's response.

"And has she sparked yours?" Marcus asked.

Will cleared his throat.

"I... she is certainly..." he stammered for the words.

"Aeliana, Will Capanna is here!" Marcus called out, interrupting him.

Will heard her steps coming down the hall and he rubbed the back of his neck. When she approached, her face was beaming.

"Will, what a pleasure!" she remarked and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. The informality surprised him and he turned a bit so that her lips fell instead on the corner of his mouth. She didn't seem to mind, and kept her hands on both of his arms as she looked at him. "Your generosity will not soon be forgotten."

Marcus stood nearby, looking at the two of them and smiling knowingly. It was making Will extremely uncomfortable.

"Aeliana," he said, unable to look directly at her, "I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to Senator Porcius' domus. I need to inform him that the business with Fredo Ligare is taken care of."

"Certainly," she replied, "It would be my pleasure."

Will smiled and was able to meet her eyes.

Palatine Hill was not far from the House of Flos, but the prestige of owning a domus there created an ambiance of refinement. Aeliana opened the window when they arrived in the district to enjoy the scent of fresh flowers and perfume, and Will followed her example. He had purposely worn clothing that draped open at the sides and she had noticed with a coy smile. He leaned forward and pretended to pay attention to the passing scenery, but he knew her eyes were upon him. The carriage jostled a bit as it pulled up to the House of Porcius.

"Senator Porcius is not at home," the head slave said at the door, "but his daughter would be happy to greet you if you wish."

Will waited, glancing downward and in Aeliana's direction, signaling her to take charge of the social matters.

"That would be fine," she answered.

Rufina rushed up to them as they waited in the atrium.

"You will not believe what news I have heard from Capua!"

"Good day, Rufina," Aeliana answered.

Rufina kissed Aeliana's cheek and offered Will her hand. He begrudgingly kissed it.

"Please, sit," Rufina said, "I have much to say."

Aeliana sat with her hostess, but Will remained standing, observing his surroundings.

"Spartacus and his band of rebels... oh gods, you won't even believe it."

"Spartacus?" Will asked.

"Yes, the Thracian gladiator," Rufina responded. He didn't register recognition.

"Honestly, Will, I understand you don't keep up on popular culture but surely you have heard mention of the rebel Spartacus and his attacks on Roman nobility?"

Will looked at Aeliana.

"Spartacus, along with other gladiators and slaves owned by the lanista Batiatus in Capua, revolted and slaughtered everyone in the household, save for his wife," Aeliana informed him.

"She barely survived," Rufina said mournfully. "And now the treacherous slaves have formed a small army and have set to slaughtering anyone they see fit."

"And what news from Capua? The revolt took place quite some time ago."

"The rebels returned!" she said, glancing back and forth, visibly excited that she was the first to inform her peers of the horrible events. "They destroyed the arena in Capua and slaughtered even more noble Romans!"

"In the city?" Aeliana was alarmed. "I knew that they were attacking villas in the countryside..." she stopped when she noticed Will looked concerned.

"Oh yes," Rufina said. "They have grown very bold. Luckily, we are safe in Rome."

Aeliana cleared her throat.

"Oh, Will!" Rufina exclaimed. "You must increase your security if you wish to continue living outside of Rome's protection."

Will was deep in thought, and Rufina turned her attention back to Aeliana.

"Fear and panic has become so ubiquitous that some slave-holders are threatening to publicly stone or even crucify any of their slaves who show interest in Spartacus, or even mention his name!"

"An appalling practice," Aeliana muttered.

Rufina shrugged.

"Our security within the city walls has kept us from resorting to such practices," she said.

"And if you were outside of the walls?" Will asked, shaking his head.

"Perhaps we would be forced to be more severe," Rufina answered. She tried to look at Will's eyes, but he didn't allow it. "And how do you intend to protect yourself and your household?"

Will gazed at Aeliana. He wanted her to know that if she was to live with him, she would be safe and happy. He would give her whatever her heart desired.

"I will bring in paid security," he said. "Not slaves. Trained and educated free men who will fight with loyalty."

"Those without slaves have nothing to worry," she added.

Will wondered if he could do without slaves, if he could handle the cost of paid workers tending to his expansive land and crops. For Aeliana's respect, pleasure, and security, he believed he could. But that would mean forgoing gladiators. It would remove any possibility of having Hannibal in his possession.

"I came to let your father know that I spoke to Fredo," he told Rufina. "Thank him for me, for allowing me to take over his investment."

When Aeliana and Will returned to his carriage, they were silent until a soft rain began to fall. Will leaned over to shut Aeliana's window for her first, and as he brushed up against her she put a hand on his chest. He looked at her, those gentle eyes searching his. He wasn't sure what to do, but he felt her desire pulling him. He sat down again, closer to her and she moved her hand up to his neck and began to rub. It felt very nice, and he closed his eyes. He opened them again when he felt her lips touch his. They were moist and soft, and he was pulled into her embrace. When she stopped he whispered, "Aeliana..."

"I have been wanting to do that since that day, after the arena," she said.

He smiled at her shyly, and the carriage stopped at her home.

"Can I meet with you again?" he asked.

"Please do."

"Aeliana," he continued, as he helped her descend from the carriage, "I would like to court you, if you are interested."

She laughed at him and he felt a shock of embarrassment.

"Oh," she said quickly, putting her hand on him again. "I only laugh because I thought it was obvious how interested I am."

He was relieved, and kissed her hand farewell. She kissed him again on the mouth, in front of her father's domus.

"I look forward to it," she said, and went inside.

* * *

 

In the weeks that passed, Will and Aeliana grew closer. She had visited his home on multiple occasions and they toured his gardens and spoke of academia and philosophy. He longed to ask her the questions for which he most needed answers: if she was interested in marriage and children and living with him on his plantation, and if he could count on her to help him build the life that he knew his father would be proud of. In exchange, she would dwell in the lap of luxury, treated with kindness and respect, and be given immense freedom to speak as she pleased and invest in her own interests. He did not know how to express these ideas in a way that could be called romantic or enticing, for to him it seemed like more of an arrangement.

Marcus seemed pleased to see that Will was calling on his daughter regularly, and he knew it would be no trouble at all to ask for the man's blessing to their marriage. The only difficulty was the matter of the arena. His thoughts were constantly turning to Hannibal and how badly he wished to see the man fight again. He knew that Aeliana didn't approve of the games, and seemed to think that Will didn't care for them either since the incident that occurred the last time they visited the arena with Rufina. For now, if he wanted to watch the fighting, he would have to keep it a secret from his chosen partner.

The vilicus, Octavio, was an older gentleman slave, who had served the Senator Capanna for many years, and now continued to serve young master Will. He found his duties in the domestic realm extremely diminished due to Will's introverted nature, but they grew in regards to his functions as a mouthpiece and courier. Answering for Will and running errands had given him a bit more status outside of the villa, as he was no longer confined to the property, but ventured out as a high-standing  _familia urbana_. He had helped raise Will from boyhood, and oversaw the minor aspects of his education that did not involve his father. Between that, and the fact that Will gave him freedom most slaves could not aspire to, Octavio had reason to be fiercely loyal.

Upon hearing that Spartacus and his rebels were ransacking plantations and slaughtering the domini of the households, he shuddered with anxiety for the safety of his own master. The villa was largely unprotected, with only a few guard posts and overseers to warn of intruders. Nothing that could put up a fight against a small army led by gladiators. He hadn't spoken to Will about his fears as of yet. The rebels were last spotted far off and heading in another direction. However, he was keeping an ear open to the word on the street regarding their location and any information about who they had attacked. It seemed to get worse and worse. Whispers of a new, independent revolt within Rome, inspired by Spartacus caused him to worry now that Will was spending time away from the villa in the company of Aeliana. When Will came to him to ask about hiring mercenaries to guard the plantation and household, Octavio was noticeably relieved.

"I agree that that may be necessary, Dominus," he said. "Your slaves show no signs of disloyalty to you, but they are not fighters and they may find themselves forced to choose between surrendering to rebels and forfeiting their lives. Mercenaries do not have that choice to make."

"Would they need to be trained?"

"They are generally soldiers with fighting experience," Octavio answered, "But I have heard that merely a handful of Spartacus' men successfully massacred many citizens of Capua, despite security being present. Other villas under attack were guarded by mercenaries and even official guard in the case of Senatorial members, but they were dispatched of quite quickly. It may be wise to find a trainer and make-shift a barracks on the grounds."

Will thanked Octavio for his advice. Perhaps he could find a place for Hannibal after all. But that would require Fredo Ligare to give up his ownership to Will, something he wasn't sure would be possible. In the meantime, his desire to see the man again was gnawing at him. He knew that if he were to bring him into his household that he would have to explain his presence to Aeliana eventually.

"There is a gladiator," he told her one evening as they dined in his villa, "owned by Fredo, who is intelligent and educated. I have spoken with him in Fredo's ludus and I feel the urge to rescue him from his unfortunate life."

Aeliana was pleased and touched by her beau's compassion.

"You would purchase him?"

"I would. And perhaps I could use his skill as a fighter to train the guards on my property. It would be a more peaceful and rewarding life for a deserving man."

"Who is this gladiator?" she asked. Will hesitated.

"Do you remember the fighter we saw the first time we attended the arena? The one who... who ate a part of his opponent?"

Aeliana's mouth dropped.

"The cannibal?!"

"It is a theatrical gimmick, I assure you," Will said. "He is forced to perform, and his well-being depends on such sensationalism and gore. Again, I say, I spoke with the man in person and he was quite different from the persona he projects in the arena."

Aeliana shook her head, and Will continued.

"I can't tell you how much it would mean to me, to give him a position that rewards his truer self, so he doesn't have to be debased in such a fashion."

She kissed him, and lay her head on his chest, rubbing his stomach with her hand. He sighed.

"You are a kind man, Will. I believe you see the good in people, and understand them. Perhaps to a fault, but I would have you follow your impulses to be so kind."

He pet her soft dark hair and kissed the top of her head. He wondered if she was right about seeing the good in people. It didn't feel quite true, as he often felt he could see the darker aspects of them as well, beneath the pomp and etiquette that they projected. Hannibal was perhaps the opposite of them. Monstrous and violent on the exterior, but with a thoughtful soul beneath. But which aspect was he most attracted to?

The amphitheater was relatively under-populated the next time Will visited. When Rufina noticed him and waved, his heart sank. What if she told Aeliana that he was there?

"Good day, Rufina," he said gruffly, and was forced to kiss her hand again.

"You do realize that Hannibal the Cannibal fights in the primus today?" she said amusedly. "Are you sure you have the stomach for it this time?"

"I would rather not be here, to be honest," he lied. "But I have invested with Ligare and he has asked for me to visit."

"Poor Fredo," she said, "his business is not doing well as of late."

She looked at him with a self-satisfied glint in her eyes.

"I hope your investment doesn't suffer for it."

"What do you mean?"  
"Surely you notice that the seats are far from filled today," she said, gesturing at the meager crowd. "It is because of the massacre in Capua. People are simply not in the gaming spirit just yet."

"Well, as you said before, we are within the security of Rome's walls. I'm sure the crowds will return in no time."

"For your sake, I hope you're right, dear Will."

"Excuse me, I must find Fredo," he said.

"Well, if you should feel nauseated, be sure to aim toward the edge of the balcony, rather than on it."

Will spotted Fredo sitting in his seat near the announcer and editor, in the most prominent balcony. He approached, and Fredo gladly offered him a place next to him.

"So good to see you, Magister Capanna," he said. "Your favorite champion has the primus again."

"It is why I am here," Will replied.

Fredo chatted throughout all of the minor games, pointing out which gladiators were his and mentioning all of the flaws he noticed in his competitors' gladiators. It was perhaps a bit rude, but Will found it informative for only his second time watching the games. When the primus was announced, however, Fredo was perfectly silent.

Hannibal entered the open field to the sound of cheers and jeers. Will inadvertently stood up, and thought he saw Hannibal's face turn toward him. Perhaps he was just waving to the crowd in general, but he liked to believe that he saw him up there, and acknowledged him. He sat down again when the fighting commenced.

As Hannibal sparred with a gladiator named Jael, who the announcer claimed came from the jungles of Africa, Will took note of his style. He realized that Hannibal's words about engaging one's opponent to lull them into the illusion of predictability were put to use. The fighting style Hannibal used on Khalif was completely different than what he was using now. Both mirrored his opponent’s style perfectly, making them seem matched. He could see now that it was a trick, and he smiled.

"How does he do it?" he murmured.

Fredo looked at him and nodded knowingly.

Will barely looked at Hannibal's adversary, a tall, lean man with mahogany skin and nimble movements. His eyes were fixed on his gladiator. Fredo Ligare no longer owned Hannibal, in his mind. He was his.

The movements of his body were impeccable. Like a human cobra, he darted back and forth, his reflexes almost preternatural. Will began to feel himself swell again as he admired the man and imagined having the honor of rewarding Hannibal for his victory. Walking into the ludus, where Hannibal bathed himself of the blood and wrapped and treated his wounds. Allowing him to take him, as though Will was the slave and Hannibal the dominus.

He quickly shook the vision away from behind his eyes, so he could focus on the fight below. He noticed that Jael was beginning to accept the cadence of the fight as a given, and was allowing himself to meet needs for extra breath and adjusted footing between the beats.

"It won't be long now," Will whispered. He could hear Fredo chuckle.

Only a moment after he had said that, Jael shifted his weight to one side, loosening the weary grip on his weapon for but a second. Hannibal stepped in the opposite direction at startling speed and sliced the very tip of his blade across his opponent's throat. It was more of a nick, actually, the movement like the darting of a serpent's tongue. It seemed so light, so shallow, but it was all it took for the man's artery to open and his blood to empty out onto his collar and chest. He stared at Hannibal in shock, as if he still couldn't comprehend what had just happened. The blood loss was quick, and he dropped to his knees. He was unconscious before the editor could even give his ruling.

"Merciful," Fredo spoke his first words since Hannibal took to the sands. "A sign of respect for a worthy fighter."

The editor could see that Jael was as good as dead, but the ruling meant more to the audience when Hannibal was involved. He gave him the thumbs down and the crowd, although not as abundant as last time, created an impressive roar and chanted for the cannibal to eat.

Will swallowed and prepared himself for the show. He refused to be squeamish again.

Hannibal knelt beside his foe that had fallen on his stomach. He cut into Jael's lower back and removed a dark red kidney. It was too much. Will looked away as Hannibal devoured it and his audience showed their adoration. Fredo stood and applauded, and Will joined him in time to see the Hannibal stand with his mouth stained red, still chewing. Then he looked in Will's direction, and this time Will was certain of it. The cannibal gladiator lifted a bloody hand to his mouth, kissed it, and pointed it toward Will's balcony.

As the two men exited, Fredo turned to Will and asked, "Would you like to return to my villa and observe my ludus, now that it is daylight?"

Will agreed and instructed his driver to return home while he accompanied Fredo in his carriage.

"Ah, but we should eat first. Watching Hannibal fight always rustles up the appetite," the lanista remarked.

Will was reminded of Rufina's own comment and he wondered at how Hannibal's theatrical gimmick reflected the audience he clearly knew so well.

At dinner, Will mostly listened as Fredo explained how he chose his slaves, how he culled them, and when he and the doctore could tell they were ready for battle. Will wondered about the rebellion in Capua, and how Fredo could be so relaxed in his villa next to the ludus, after such a terrifying incident. The man led him out to the yard and several gladiators were training while Ren observed and called out orders and critiques.

"Where is Hannibal?" Will asked.

"He is probably in his cell, having been washed, resting and enjoying the fruits of his labor. I allow my champions reasonable requests after winning a battle. Some request lovely slave-girls to visit them. Hannibal asks for fine food and wine."

Ren saw Fredo approaching and bowed. Fredo waved at him to continue as he was doing.

"I have the best doctore in all of Rome," he said proudly. "The man is a legend. Ragged barbarians, prisoners, and scrapping boys enter this ludus, champions of the arena emerge."

"A shame he must retire," Will said.

"Yes, it is," Fredo agreed, "but all good men must rest eventually."

"And Hannibal should take his place?"

"Ah..." Fredo remarked, "That statement may have been premature."

"What do you mean?" Will asked.

"I spoke with Ren about his replacement. He urged me to reconsider a veteran instead of Hannibal, one who has been here for years and proven his loyalty. He also will be too old to fight in the coming years, but not too old to be doctore, so I will not have to lose an active gladiator."

"But once a doctore is instated, would they not be in the position indefinitely?"

"Yes," Fredo replied. "But Hannibal will always be one of my most prized gladiators."

Will tried to hide his agitation.

"It is shame for a man of Hannibal's intellect and experience to fight for entertainment for the rest of his life."

"Ah, but he seems to enjoy it."

Will turned to Fredo and stopped him.

"I am interested in improving the security on my plantation, due to the rebel uprising brought on by Spartacus."

Fredo bristled at the name and looked around anxiously.

"I need a doctore to train the new soldiers, so that they are ready for anything."

"It is a good plan," Fredo replied.

"I would like to purchase Hannibal."

"Eh..." Fredo sighed, "I'm afraid he isn't for sale."

He began to walk around the training grounds, observing his slaves. Will followed after him.

"Name your price. Please, I can't see him go to waste."

"He is not wasted!" Fredo insisted. "He's a fucking champion!"

"I mean," Will was frustrated by having to hurry after the man. "Please, I mean what I say. I will pay you enough to buy three champions!"

"You do not understand," Fredo replied. "Hannibal is a crowd-pleaser. People know him by name and come to the arena specifically to see him. I cannot replace that. Even if I were to train more slaves who were as talented as he, which is unlikely, they wouldn't have the name attached to them that Hannibal the Cannibal does. My stable couldn't bounce back from it. I'm sorry, he isn't for sale."

Will looked over at the window to Hannibal's cell. He could see the silhouette of the man from inside, sitting on his bed and staring straight ahead. He remembered Fredo's words from weeks ago.  _"Always listening, that one."_

* * *

 

Despite his disappointment over Fredo's refusal to part with Hannibal, Will asked Octavio to recruit mercenaries from Rome and oversee the refurbishment of one of the guest villas into a barracks. Soldiers of mediocre skill were better than no guard at all. Part of Will still held out hope that Fredo would reconsider his offer. He paid attention to when Hannibal would fight again and waited impatiently for the chance to watch the man that he, despite all reason, considered his own personal gladiator. Only days before he was to attend the arena once more, he was lounging quietly with Aeliana out in the garden and staring at the chestnut tree, when Octavio came back from his trip to Rome claiming dreadful news.

"Dominus, I regret to inform you that your patronage, Fredo Ligare, has been assaulted and is gravely wounded by one of his own slaves."

Will was startled. Had a new rebellion begun in Rome?

"How? What happened?" Aeliana asked.

"The doctore of his ludus," Octavio answered. "He entered his villa while Fredo slept and attempted to gut him. Thankfully, a comfort slave was unnoticed in the room and screamed for help."

"Doctore Ren?" Will jumped to his feet. "I can't believe it. I can't."

"According to rumor, his quarters were searched and propaganda in favor of Spartacus and his rebellion were found hidden there."

"What has happened to the doctore?"

"He was tortured, I am afraid, so that he would confess where he received the propaganda and who encouraged him in his treachery. He finally spoke the name of a gladiator and was put to rest."

"Which gladiator?" Will's mouth grew dry and his throat tightened.

"Hannibal," Octavio answered, and Will heard Aeliana gasp. "They call him Hannibal the Cannibal. Quite the beast, I'm told..."

Will dashed out of the villa before Octavio could finish his sentence, and Aeliana followed him.

"Will!" she called, "Have wisdom!"

He did not stop, and so she climbed into the carriage with him.

They arrived at the House of Ligare and, circumventing the villa, he ran straight into the yard where he could see a cross erected and a man nailed upon it. Guards called after them, but seeing their upper-class clothing, they stopped when Aeliana spoke to them and explained why they were there. Will didn't pause. As he came closer, he noticed that the man on the cross was Ren, mutilated and dead. In the yard before him, gladiators and trainees sat upon the sand, mourning the loss of their doctore.

"Where is Hannibal?" he called to them.

"They took him away two days ago," one man answered. "We do not know where."

The guards and Aeliana approached and she cried out at the sight of the bloody crucifixion, and turned her back to it.

"I need to see Fredo," Will commanded the guards.  
"He is recuperating in his bed," they heard a voice call out. The House Ligare vilicus was exiting the doorway. "He will pull through, although he is very shaken by these events, as I'm sure you can understand."

"I need to find out what he has done with..."

Aeliana interrupted him quickly.

"Apologies for the intrusion," she said. "We are desperate to speak to our dear friend. We must see for ourselves that he is well."

As the vilicus nodded and led them inside, Will took Aeliana's hand and whispered his thanks to her.  _This is why I need you_ , he thought.

"Allow me to speak, my love," she replied, and he nodded in agreement.

The villa was dimly-lit when they made their way back to Fredo's private quarters. The muffled sounds of slaves sobbing could be heard from other rooms.

"The doctore was well-loved," their escort explained in a whisper. No one can believe that it has come to this. That he would betray his household and dominus so completely."

Fredo was propped up on pillows in his bed. He smiled weakly when his guests entered.

"Will Capanna," he said, "and who is this lovely woman?"

"This is Aeliana Flos," Will replied. "She is a good friend of mine."

"Magister Ligare," she greeted him. "I am so terribly sorry to hear of your grave misfortune. Please accept our condolences."

"It is a most diabolical thing," Fredo coughed. "Ren, my most trusted slave, a man I intended to give  _libertas_ , making attempt on my life!"

"Why would he do such a thing?" Aeliana asked.

"When he stabbed me, as my comfort slave screamed, I heard him ask me repeatedly where his children were. He knew where they were! I had told him previously that they were at a  _villa rustica_ , and I swore by the gods, I swear to you now, that is where they are!"

He began to shake and coughed into a handkerchief. Aeliana put her hand on his shoulder.

"What madness made him believe otherwise?" Fredo asked. "I have never once lied to him. Never..."

Will didn't approach Fredo, but stood against the wall, next to the vilicus.

"You believe that he was influenced?" Aeliana asked.

"My captain of the guard informed me that he tortured him," tears filled Fredo's eyes. "Near the end, before they gave him mercy, he called out the name of Hannibal. Betrayal upon betrayal."

Fredo looked over at Will.

"Did you not think that he was under duress?" He snapped. "That he chose any name to avoid further torment?"

"That is what Hannibal claimed, when he was brought before me. Having no proof, I spared his life, but I could not risk keeping him here any longer."

"What have you done with him?"

"I had the overseer sell him to the pit. He can do no harm there."

Will looked at the vilicus questioningly.

"An underground fighting ring," the slave informed him, "for petty gamblers,  _sine missione_. It is a constant stream of fights to the death until the slaves there are defeated or collapse from fatigue. It is where dishonored gladiators go to die."

Will was fuming.

"A loyal gladiator, a champion of the arena, to go from being a contender for doctore status to being thrown into a hellish drawn-out death sentence, because of the words of a desperate traitor?"

Fredo was shocked that Will questioned his decision.

"How dare you! Any other lanista would have had him crucified next to his doctore for such an implication!"

"Forgive him, Fredo," Aeliana said. "He is surprised by these events as well."

"Surprised?" Fredo spat. "I lie here nearly dead due to treachery and rebellion and I am criticized for showing an ounce of mercy to the slave who may very well have played a part in it!"

Will left the room and paced in the hall.

"Hannibal is the only other gladiator of mine, aside from Ren, who can even read. Ren never left the villa, Hannibal did. Who else would have provided him with such propaganda? The accusation has merit. I cannot prove it, but I feel the stab of Hannibal's blade in my gut just as keenly as Ren's."

"Please," Aeliana said softly, trying to calm him down. "We will attempt to find the source of this treachery, be it Hannibal or any other. We are on your side."

Aeliana heard Will's footsteps receding down the hall.

"Be well, Fredo," she said, and patted his hand. "Rest and we will call on you in the future."

Fredo closed his eyes and Aeliana rushed to catch up with Will. The vilicus followed them out.

"Do you know where this pit is?" Will asked him.

"In the plebian district, near the bathhouse there," he answered.

"Aeliana," Will said, taking her hands, "I should go alone."

He addressed the vilicus, "Will you see to it that she is returned to her domus?"

"Perhaps you should send for Octavio," Aeliana encouraged. "It is dangerous for you to go to such a place."

"There is no time," he answered, and climbed into his carriage.

The pit was exactly as the vilicus described: a place of weariness, dishonor, and death. He was surprised to see the occasional high-born gambler squeezed in amidst the plebs, shrieking at the filthy spectacle before them. He asked the editor, if one could even give the slovenly overseer such a title, for Hannibal. He gestured to a crowded cell off to one side of the gory center pit. Inside, against the wall, covered in blood and mud and untreated cuts, sat Hannibal with his knees pulled up to his chest.

"Hannibal!" Will called out amidst the din of his surroundings.

Upon hearing his name, Hannibal looked up to see Will pushing his way through the spectators toward his cage. He didn't even climb to his feet, just stared back at him with an expression of disbelief.

"Open the door!" Will commanded the guard.

"You want to remove a pit-dog, you have to pay for him," the gruff man answered.

Will tossed him a purse of coins without even bothering to haggle. The guard was astonished, and quickly opened the cell. Hannibal tried to rise, but was slowed by weakness. Will helped him to his feet and supported him as he led him out of the pit.

 On the ride home, Will did not speak to Hannibal, as the once proud gladiator could barely keep his eyes open. Before long, he had dozed off with his head against the door of the carriage.

* * *

 

Back at the villa, Will ordered that Hannibal be washed and his wounds treated. He stood outside the door to the bath, pacing. Finally, he opened the door and looked inside. Hannibal was standing up to his hips in water, accompanied by two handmaidens who washed him carefully. Will instructed them to leave.

"Dominus," Hannibal said softly, and bowed with a slight wince.

Goosebumps scattered up Will's arms. The title spoken toward him, in Hannibal's voice, was tremendously exciting.

"Fredo makes damning accusations toward you," he said. He came closer to Hannibal, staring at the man's body. He walked up beside him and looked him over. Cuts and bruises covered his arms, chest, and stomach, but he was no less exquisite.

Hannibal looked up at him with a plaintive expression that struck Will's heart.

"Gracious Dominus," he said, "Doctore Ren found my name on his lips in his moment of greatest pain, believed it would spare him further agony, and it did. For that, I am grateful, but I swear to you on the old gods of my people and every Roman god who will hear me now, I did not betray my master. Nor would I ever."

At that last statement, he locked eyes with Will and spoke intently, as if to make that a promise to his new dominus.

"I believe you," Will replied. "For now, you will be washed, dressed, and given a place to bed within the villa."

Hannibal picked up the cloth that one of the handmaidens had left behind and began to run it over his own body.

Will removed the outer layers of his finery, the lacerna, and his belt, leaving only the short open-sided tunic. Hannibal watched him as he laid them on the couch and waded into the bath with him. He took the cloth from Hannibal and began to gently wash his back. A thoughtful, examining look came over Hannibal's face.

"Were you interested in becoming the doctore of the Ligare ludus?" Will asked. His tunic from the waist down floated in the bathwater and the string that tied it closed at the waist was loose, pulling open the sides. Hannibal's breath grew deeper, and his nostrils flared momentarily as he glanced over the young man.

"I was," Hannibal answered. "It would have been a great comfort to me to cease fighting and pass on my knowledge to others."

Will smiled.

"I want to install a barracks on my property," he explained. "I need someone to train the guards to better secure my home from marauders."

"Dominus," Hannibal answered. Will was beginning to press up against him as he held up the gladiator's arm and washed along the side of his chest and stomach.

"You would be my doctore," Will continued. He studied Hannibal's face, noticed a spatter of blood beside his ear, and washed it with the cloth.

"Thank you, Dominus," Hannibal whispered. "I will rise to the task."

Will lowered the cloth to the water and let it sink. He stared at Hannibal for a moment and began to lean in.

Hannibal stiffened and turned to face him directly.

"Am I to... provide comfort to you as well?" he asked in a stern tone.

Heat spread over Will's face and he pulled back.

"Ah... no, I..." he felt embarrassed.

"Whatever you wish, Dominus," Hannibal answered, nodding.

"I just..." Will wanted to leave the room in an instant, and hide from his shame over being so physical with a slave, who had no say in the matter. "You do not have to do anything in that regard, that you do not feel inclined... I mean..."

He stammered and covered his face, stepping away from Hannibal. Then he felt hands on his arms, pulling them down. Hannibal had come closer to him, and was looking at him with a tiny smirk.

"But you want me... to feel so inclined," he said.

Will couldn't respond, he just watched the man's eyes as they wandered over his scantily-clad body. Hannibal reached down and untied the thin sash that held Will's tunic together. His rough hands fumbled through the openings on either side and pulled him by his naked hips into his embrace. Will closed his eyes and held still while Hannibal pressed his lips against his chest, his collar, and then his neck with just a brush of his teeth against his jugular. At the sensation of Hannibal's soft bite, Will's eyes snapped open and he felt as though his body was melting into sea-foam atop the water. He put his hands on the back of Hannibal's head and pulled on him, inviting him to bite harder. He did, and Will moaned. The sound of his moan caused Hannibal to release a quiet chuckle and he put his hands at the back of Will's legs and lifted him up, carrying him to the step into the bath and setting him down there. Will leaned back and stared up at his gladiator with a pleading expression, and Hannibal did not break eye contact with him as he pulled aside Will's wet tunic and moved his hands between his legs. Will felt a strange weakness in his body, particularly in his arms, as Hannibal maneuvered him into position. He pulled Will's arms above his head and pushed him onto the tiles, his body bent in a strained arch over the edge of the bath. He released him, but Will did not move from his position as Hannibal stripped him of his tunic and began to nibble and kiss him all over his chest and stomach, nipples, ribs, belly button, hip bones... Will arched his back even more and clutched his own hair and throat, staring at Hannibal as he made his way down his torso and between his legs. The bites stung and left small red marks all over him. Each one made him shiver and gasp. Each one made his body more sensitive and apprehensive.

Hannibal stood over Will and put a hand on his neck and opened Will's legs with the other. He examined his dominus' face as he moved his fingers over Will's cock, massaging him as he clutched his throat. Will's mouth trembled, opening wider. The expression on Hannibal's face, somewhat stoic, but knowing and domineering, thrilled him. Hannibal’s fingers moved downward and began to probe him gently. Will whimpered and began to clutch at the arm that Hannibal held him down by the throat with. He grasped onto it tightly when Hannibal began to work his fingers inside of him. Will lifted his knees in the water, spreading his legs further apart. A smile spread across Hannibal's face and he brought his hand to Will's, placing his fingers over the young man's open mouth. Will, still holding Hannibal's arm, kissed his fingers and began to suck them. Hannibal maneuvered Will's feet up onto the step into the bath, opening him up even further and now took his right hand to his own cock and guided it inside of him. Will moaned and kissed Hannibal's hand and fingers faster, more fervently. He gazed upward, watching the strangely sly smile hover over him, as Hannibal slowly pushed in further.

"Ohhh," Will groaned. And Hannibal began to fuck him, at a maddeningly slow pace. His head lolled from side to side on the tiles, and Hannibal gently lifted him, placed a hand under the back of his head, and then lifted himself and Will's hips up out of the water. He thrust in and out of him, faster now, pushing the young man backward a bit on the tile. Hannibal began to grunt in a deep breathy sound, his lips snarling a bit.

"Please," Will whispered. "I need this. I need this so badly."

At that cue, Hannibal lifted Will's hips again, above the edge of the bath and he placed his own knees on the step. He brought Will's legs up, and pushed his weight down upon him, thrusting deep within him. Will's head was still cradled in Hannibal's left hand and now he reached out to put his own hands into Hannibal's shaggy golden brown hair. It felt soft as he pulled it lightly, coaxing him to bring his face closer to him. With his right hand, Hannibal began to fondle Will. His lip curled, baring his teeth a bit as he fucked him faster, harder.

Will's eyes began to water and he whimpered as he strained into Hannibal's movements.

"Please," he moaned, not even knowing what he was asking for but repeating the word over and over, "please, please..."

A swelling, aching sensation grew in his belly as Hannibal thrust into him. He stroked the young man's cock faster, and Will moved his hips, unable to get enough.

"Ohhh, please..." his voice was growing desperate and hoarse. He licked and bit his lower lip, and Hannibal suddenly dipped down and kissed him hard on the mouth. While he kissed him, he moved his hand in a firm rotating motion and aimed his thrusting upward. Will's eyes widened and the sensation seemed to split open and pour out like a hot liquid that spread throughout his entire body. He came all over his belly, and the thrusting motion against the front wall inside of him kept him in spasms and moaning into Hannibal's kiss. Hannibal didn't stop, and the shivering, twitching ache was unbearable. Then he felt the warmth of Hannibal's cum inside of him, and they both relaxed. Hannibal pulled back and kissed him again.

Will was trembling and wet on the tiles of the floor, when Hannibal climbed out of the bath and lie down next to him, pressing his lips against his shoulder and holding him close. He was murmuring something in a language that Will had never heard before, guttural with soft syllables. He looked over at him curiously.

Hannibal smiled up at Will, kissed his shoulder, and nuzzled him.

"My life for you, my Dominus," he said.


	2. The Cannibal in the Villa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some helpful words:  
> Vilicus--the head slave of a household, who oversees other slaves in the house and field  
> Familia urbana--slaves who have a higher social status than most free citizens, due to the status of the household that owns them  
> Villa rustica--a large house on a farm  
> Cubiculum--a small private room used as a study, etc.  
> Lacerna--a long strip of cloth draped over the tunic, to create the fully-clothed effect  
> Byssus cloth--also known as "sea silk" is a fabric woven from the fibrous secretions of clams which is very fine, rare, and extremely expensive, sought after by ancient nobility

Hannibal took to his position of doctore with astounding adeptness. Will set up a nice room for him at the back of the villa, with an exit near the yard to the barracks, and instructed Octavio to treat him with status equal to that of vilicus. He seemed reticent, but after weeks went by and the mercenaries he had found in Rome began to act like soldiers of valor and respectability, he appreciated the former gladiator’s presence in the villa. Octavio was a foreigner himself, captured at a young age and forced into slavery, much like Hannibal. The two shared stories of life abroad; of poverty, hunger, fear, and death. What they also had in common was a sense of gratitude, for the house they ended up in was a veritable oasis amidst enslavement.

After the encounter in the bath, Will felt a bit awkward around Hannibal, and spent a great deal of his time watching him from afar or going to Aeliana’s domus in the city. Today he looked out from his balcony and saw the man sitting with Octavio on a rustic bench beside the barracks’ fire pit. Octavio had brought him some of the good wine from the villa, in favor of the swill the mercenaries had on hand. They were smiling and drinking it together. He came down and they stood as he walked up to them.

“Dominus,” they both said.

“I hope you do not mind,” said Octavio, “I have brought Hannibal something better to drink, and we shared a moment of leisure together.”

“It’s absolutely fine,” Will said, smiling, “I am glad to see you two are becoming friends.”

“Thank you, Dominus,” Octavio replied. “Hannibal and I come from nearly opposite directions, but we share a common knowledge of strife.”

“I see,” Will replied.

He looked at Hannibal with concern. Octavio didn’t speak much about his past, generally keeping his private matters to himself, but he had overheard his father tell a few of Octavio’s stories secondhand to others. They were stories about families living in the cruelest of conditions, hiding from battling clans and slavers, cowering in the dark and cold, with no relief in sight. The thought that Hannibal could have stories of his own to match Octavio’s weighed heavy on his heart.

“We bear the marks of our lives,” Hannibal said. “Some we wear with honor, others with resentment. This leads me to what I would like to ask of you.”

“Go on,”

Hannibal looked at Octavio, who excused himself and went back to the villa.

“I bear the brand of Fredo Ligare, on my forearm,” Hannibal said. He pulled away his wrist-guard and revealed the initials “FL.”

Will winced and touched the blistered scar, long healed over the years.

“I do not desire to wear this brand any longer,” he said. “I would prefer the mark of my new dominus.”

“I do not brand my slaves,” Will said, “neither did my father.”

“Perhaps you would do me the favor of allowing me to transform this brand into something reflecting your house?”

“You may,” Will replied. He sat down on the bench and gestured Hannibal to sit next to him.

“Thank you, Dominus,” Hannibal said. Will looked over at him, enjoying the heat that Hannibal’s naturally warm body gave off. He noticed raised hash-marks covering all of his back.

“These are not gladiator scars,” Will said, running his fingers over them.

“No,” Hannibal replied, “Those are the scars of an errant young slave.”

“They are numerous,” Will said in a soft voice, mesmerized by the evidence of repeated lashings.

“When I was captured and brought into Rome, years ago, I was… difficult. I refused to take orders. When I was spoken to in a way I didn't care for, I didn't hide my contempt.”

Hannibal looked out at the barracks yard, at the soldiers now under his authority.

“Those first few weeks, I believe I was whipped every day.”

Will had no words to express; he only kept his hands on Hannibal’s back. He wanted to kiss his scars and worship his body and give him comfort. But he held back while out in the yard. Even after Hannibal had taken him, he felt uncomfortable acknowledging it.

“When I was sold to Fredo Ligare, he was warned that I was a trouble-maker. Immediately upon being taken to the ludus, he ordered Doctore Ren to beat me, for no other reason than to let me know what my place would be.”

“I am sorry for your suffering,” Will said.

“I am not,” Hannibal replied. “I’m the man I am today because of what I have endured. I have learned self-control, temperance, and humility.”

“I admire your outlook,” Will replied.

“Octavio tells me of your father’s kindness,” Hannibal said.

Will nodded.

“He was a good man.”

“I am sorry to hear that he passed away. That must have been very difficult, for a young man, to lose his only parent.”

“It was,” he said. “But he left me with kind words.”

Hannibal looked at him with interest.

“That he loved me, no matter what,” Will told him.

“No matter what…” Hannibal responded curiously. “Not simply that he loved you?”

“He asked a few things of me, from my future life. But, he knew that they would be hard for me so he wanted me to know that even if I failed, he loved me.”

“What did he ask of you?”

Will cleared his throat and shifted his feet in the dirt.

“He wanted me to be a political person, like him, more social. Also he wished for me to be married and have children.”

“These are hard accomplishments for you?”

Will chuckled.

“I am introverted. Also, I don’t think it’s any secret to you that I prefer the company of men.”

“You do not care for women at all?”

“Ehh…” Will replied. “It is not as, pressing a need, shall we say. There is a young woman I am courting. I do care for her. I can see myself loving her. I enjoy… kissing her.”

“But it isn't with quite the same passion.” Hannibal said.

“No, not really.”

“Your father knew that about you?”

“Yes, he told me…” Will said with a dry laugh, “He told me that they didn't have teeth down there.”

Hannibal smiled, but then his face grew serious again.

“Your father gave you tasks that he knew were not in your nature to perform, that he knew would lead to a lack of satisfaction in your life. He told you he loved you no matter what, immediately after giving you conditions for his approval.”

Will looked at Hannibal with surprise. He didn't have a reply.

Octavio returned to them.

“Dominus, Aeliana Flos has arrived.”

“Wonderful!” Will exclaimed, standing up. “I would like to introduce her to Hannibal.”

The two of them walked inside of the villa. Aeliana was waiting in the atrium, sitting upon a bench and reading. She stood, wrapped her arms around Will’s neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she stared at Hannibal, unsure of what to do.

“This is Hannibal, Aeliana.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Madame Flos,” Hannibal said with an elegant bow. She smiled.

“The pleasure is mine.”

He held out his hand and she hesitated for a moment before handing it to him. He kissed it gently.

“What are you reading?” Will asked.

“Sappho,” Aeliana replied. “I thought you might enjoy being read to this evening.”

“Very much.”

“You are a fan of love-themed poetry, Madame?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes, obsessively,” Aeliana chuckled. “Although I don’t know that I would use the word ‘love’ to describe what the narrator in The Hymn to Aphrodite feels.” She gestured at the page in the book she held open.

“Sappho pines for another woman,” Hannibal said. He glanced at Will. “She would summon the goddess herself to have her love reciprocated.”

“She entreats the goddess to fight a battle for her, to subdue the woman she desires, as one would conquer a nation with the help of a great commander,” Aeliana held up the book and read, “’Now she doesn't love you, but soon her heart will burn, though  _unwilling_.’ It is coercion. Sappho doesn't care if the woman loves her naturally; she only wants to possess her.”

Hannibal’s eyes were alive. Aeliana looked up at him and realized that she had been discussing Classical Greek poetry with a man who lived in a cage and ate human hearts for a roaring crowd. She was intrigued.

“What I appreciate about Sappho is her lack of sentimentality and affectation,” Hannibal replied. “She speaks of love as a thing of cruel abuse, a struggle to possess and a yearning to be possessed, but there is no irony within.”

“Very cynical,” Aeliana said with a smile.

“Depends on your perspective, I suppose,” Hannibal replied.

“I must admit, Hannibal,” she said, “You are a remarkable gladiator.”

“Ah,” Hannibal sighed, and smiled at Will. His eyes crinkled happily. “But I am not a gladiator anymore.”

“Yes,” Will answered, putting a hand on Hannibal’s back. “You are doctore.”

Will couldn't be happier with how the introduction was going. Perhaps he really could have everything he wanted in this life.

“Which reminds me, I must get back to it. Madame Flos, it was an honor.” He bowed to her once more and returned to his work.

“Well!” Aeliana said after he left. “He certainly is surprising.”

“You doubted my words?” asked Will, grinning.

“Do you blame me?” Aeliana laughed. “You forget the only other interactions I had with him were quite disturbing.”

“Well, now you meet the real man.”

“It is good that you rescued him,” Aeliana said.

“Yes, thank the gods,” Will whispered.

Octavio approached them again.

“Dominus, Senator Cassius Porcius is here to speak with you.”

“Porcius?” Will asked, furrowing his brow. “Why is he here?”

Aeliana shook her head.

“He is waiting in the yard… with Fredo Ligare.”

“Ah, Fredo is well again, I assume,” Aeliana said.

“What is this about?” Will wondered aloud, and they stepped outside.

Cassius was overlooking the barracks yard, where Hannibal trained with the men. Fredo was leaning on his cane, now actually needing it to walk with, rather than just enjoying it as a fashion accessory. With them was Rufina, who looked positively giddy as she stared at Hannibal. Will could see the doctore was standing very still, eyes on the soldiers, but ears and thoughts seemingly tuned to the conversation.

“Senator Porcius!” Aeliana said as they approached, “Rufina!”

She kissed Rufina on the cheek and offered her hand to Cassius, who kissed it.

“Aeliana Flos,” the senator responded, “I did not know you would be here.”

“To what do we owe this honor, Senator?” Will asked.

Aeliana stood next to Rufina, who whispered to her of Hannibal, and how handsome he looked up close. Aeliana chuckled.

“I have come to claim Hannibal; a slave of Fredo’s who has ended up in your possession.”

“What, no,” Will said. “I bought Hannibal, he belongs to me now.”

Aeliana anxiously looked back and forth between the men.

“You came to me with an offer to buy Hannibal, but I refused, I distinctly remember that conversation,” Fredo said.

“You sold Hannibal to the pit; I bought him from the pit. That makes him mine.”

“The overseer took him to the pit, but no contract was signed,” Fredo explained. “Legally, Hannibal belonged to my house when you paid whatever ruffian was there to take him away.”

“You can’t claim that you didn't knowingly sell him.”

Fredo began to speak, but was interrupted by Cassius.

“Of course he can,” he said. The look of self-satisfaction on his face was unbearable. “The overseer had no document from Fredo, and there is no record of him receiving payment for Hannibal. This was a mistake, an unlawful transaction, and now he has signed a  _lawful_  contract with me.”

Cassius gave Will the parchment and his hands shook as he read it.

“I am grateful that you saved the champion from almost certain demise,” Cassius continued. “I would be happy to pay you for your trouble, double what you paid…underground.”

Will looked over at Hannibal. He was still facing the training grounds, but his fists were clenching and unclenching and his jaw was strained.

“You cannot take him,” Will growled.

“Magister Capanna, we are friends,” Cassius said.

Will scoffed.

“I would find it most shameful to have to take you to court, and show the city council that you have refused lawful action in favor of back-alley dealings. Even a man with your name-sake will suffer a dent to your reputation.”

Will trembled with anger.

“You threaten me?” he asked.

“Will…” Aeliana said cautiously.

“You are threatening… you are threatening me…”

“Tread carefully, Capanna,” Cassius warned. He no longer smiled.

“No!” Will’s voice was tight, his face twisted into an uncharacteristic snarl. “You… have no dominion over me. You are a squanderer, who cannot pay his debts, with delusions of supremacy!”

Aeliana thought to walk closer to him, and touch him on the arm as he sometimes needed to be guided away from uncomfortable social situations. His newfound temper shocked her into stillness.

“Were it not for me, this lanista would have you and your daughter wallowing in the tenements!”

Rufina’s cheeks nearly matched the color of her hair. She marched up to Will and slapped him, hard across the face, causing his head to turn away. It seemed to wake him from his moment and he looked at the ground, shaking.

Aeliana could practically feel Hannibal react. She looked at him and an ominous quake moved up her chest. He was not rushing toward them as she thought he might. He stood in one place, facing them. But his expression was uninterpretable. He was standing very straight, his head turned slightly to one side, his mouth open with tongue perched between his teeth. She had never felt more frightened, and she would never be able to explain why.

“Impertinent boy,” Cassius hissed. “Hiding in your villa, swaddling yourself with your father’s money… you know nothing of the affairs of men. I will be calling upon you later, on impending litigation.”

He and Rufina hurried off, but Fredo lingered.

“Apologies,” he said. Will could not even look at him.

“I would appreciate your departure from my home,” he murmured.

“Will Capanna, hear me on this,” he said. “Some slaves are more effort than they are worth.”

“Cowards fear the literate slave,” Will said. “Heaven forefend one might have the capacity to outwit you.”

Fredo shook his head and began to leave.

“He has the capacity to outwit us all, Magister Capanna.”

As he departed, Aeliana walked up to Will and put her arms around him. He barely responded, still glaring at the path away from his villa.

“Would you mind escorting me back to my father’s domus?” she said.

He nodded and called out to Hannibal, who finally approached.

“Please hold down the villa while I am away,” he commanded.

“Dominus.” Hannibal bowed. Will and Aeliana walked toward their carriage.

“I beg your pardon, Dominus,” Hannibal added. “Might I know how long you will be away?”

Will looked back at him quizzically.

“I would like to have time for my men and me to prepare a meal, in your honor.”

He smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. He felt that Hannibal knew he would have to leave him soon.

“No more than three hours,” he replied.

“Thank you, Dominus,” Hannibal said with another bow. “Godspeed.”

Hannibal watched them climb into their carriage as the driver took his place. As soon as they were on their way, he darted back to the stables and led out a horse. He leapt onto the bare back and galloped off down a back road, kicking it to run ever faster.

“You must be more careful,” Aeliana said as the carriage lumbered toward Rome.

“Porcius is a pig,” Will sniffed.

“A pig in the senate,” she replied. “With, as we all have mentioned, many friends.”

“So I should kowtow to him?”

“Pick your battles,” she said. “Why go to war with him, and possibly destroy your reputation, over a single gladiator?”

“He is my friend!” Will answered.

“Your friend?” She looked at him questioningly.

Will was uncomfortable.

“He needed me, and I helped him, and I know that I will never find any freedman or slave who will show me the loyalty and devotion that he now shows me.”

His voice wavered. Aeliana stared at the backs of his hands sitting on his knees, seeing them tremble. She put her hand on one.

“Will…” she said, hesitating. “What does he mean to you?”

“I just told you.”

“Octavio is a slave most loyal and devoted. He would give up his life for your house. What does  _Hannibal_  mean to you?”

Will looked down and flipped his hand over, taking hers and rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. He considered his next words carefully.

“He has insight, and certain… lack of pretense,” he looked up at her and continued, “qualities I knew in my father, and no other man since. When I am with him, I feel as though I can…”

Will put his head back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose.

He felt her hand on his cheek. Her face had softened, and the warmth had returned to her eyes.

“So strange,” she said, “The way you see people. To find those familiar traits within a man who has come from nothing but brutality.”

Her tenderness had been sorely missed lately, and he longed to lay his head upon her breast and let her pet him as she would sometimes do. He leaned forward, bowing his head and looking up at her. His breathing deepened as he began to nuzzle her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed the top of his head.

“I must confess something, but do not think ill of me,” she said.

“I could never,” Will said as he continued to kiss.

“I have feared… that you do not desire me, the way I desire you.”

Will looked up at her. He pushed a silken curl away from her forehead and took in all of her features. He realized the importance of this moment to Aeliana, and knew that he must reassure her or risk losing her.

“Aeliana,” he whispered, “you know I am not… socially graceful.”

She chuckled and bit her lip.

“How can you not know my feelings for you?” he asked. “How can I better express them?”

She pulled him toward her and kissed him deeply. He relaxed and leaned into her, drawing her petite frame against his own. Her lips were soft, as the rest of her, so profoundly comforting. He reached a hand up and placed it on the bare skin of her collar. She guided it downward, moving his hand over her breast, coaxing him to massage her and push his fingers inside of her dress. He pulled away to look at her.

Aeliana stared back, one hand keeping his on her breast, and the other buried in his short curls. His eyes seemed large and boyish, uncertain. She loved him intensely.

“I…” he stammered, “I do not know how much you want. We are not married.”

She smiled and pecked his lips, over and over.

“It is only the breaking of bread. Not that I wouldn't cherish a husband such as you,” she said. Her words felt like a blanket, soft fur, warm hearth, loving wife, and family. She moved to her knees on the seat, facing him. “I want you to show me feeling. Show me everything that you feel for me and do not hold back.”

Will leaned forward and pressed himself against her, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed the crown of her breasts and squeezed her body tightly, caressing her back with his hands. She sighed happily, and petted his head, pulling lightly on his hair and scalp. Will knew what he wanted from Hannibal. He wanted to be desired, much like Aeliana wanted to be desired. Did the way she felt in his arms; soft, tender, inviting, and yielding, mirror the way he himself felt to Hannibal’s strong embrace? Did her gentle moans and delicate sighs, which made Will feel so dominant and self-assured, have the same effect on his powerful gladiator when he lay back, arched his spine and whispered, “please… please?” In that moment he felt he understood Aeliana; that she was not unlike him in her need to be fulfilled while giving of herself completely. In that moment, he wanted to please her, to give her everything that she needed. He placed his hands on her hips, and lifted her up, positioning her on his lap. Her delighted giggle urged him to continue, and he pushed his hands into the folds of her skirt, opening them and moving his fingers over her bare thighs. She settled into the position, straddling his lap and curving her back as he continued to kiss her neck and collar.

“Show me,” she whispered. He could feel her excitement, empathize, and he felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up. “Show me, show me…”

He reached up and with impassioned movements, pulled the caps of her sleeves down her arms and pushed his hands into the collar of her dress, baring her breasts. He massaged them in his hands as he kissed and sucked and nibbled, fueled by her gasping sounds of approval. Her hands moved down his neck and over his shoulders, clutching at him and searching for skin. He looked up to see her face, and saw longing.

His large wet eyes struck her heart and she kissed him and moved her hips, grinding onto his lap. She smiled when she felt him swell beneath her. She fumbled through his lacerna and tunic until she bared his hips and thighs.  Her hand glided over his cock and she began to stroke him. He pulled her skirt open even more, and slipped his hands between her legs, gently nudging her. She released her grip on him, and began to maneuver his hands, guiding his fingers to where they belonged. He touched her as instructed, and she began to gasp and rock her hips. He moved his hands to her rhythm, watching her face intently. He studied her breasts as her nipples swelled and goose bumps appeared around them. Her head was leaning back now, her neck stretched. She was in rapture, and he was the cause. She moved his fingers deeper inside of her, his index finger to her opening and his thumb still massaging outside. He stroked carefully, observing her body language. Then, when she seemed to be in another place, he ducked his head and took a soft rosy nipple between his lips, and then his teeth. He bit her lightly and she began to moan. The rocking of her hips became more of a shudder.

“Mmm… please…” she whispered, and he felt his body fill with heat. He moved his fingers in and out of her, deeper and quicker, and she clutched his head against her breast. When she began to shudder and spasm and to pull harder on his hair, he took her by the hips again and pulled her against his own. She reached for his cock and began to stroke him again, and then moved herself down onto him, letting him fill her. His groan was muffled by his lips pressed against her pale skin.

The carriage hit a bump in the road, and they bounced. Aeliana chuckled softly and began to ride him, sighing with a contented smile. He smiled back at her, and she held his face in her hands. Her wetness covered his hips and his sweat and sucking, nibbling kisses moistened her skin. They fell together on the carriage seat and tossed and tangled themselves amongst the folds of their pretty clothes. Aeliana’s light, euphoric laugh filled their small space and he whispered as he came into her, “I love you, I do love you, I do.”

The carriage pulled in front of the Flos domus, and they quickly straightened their clothing and ran fingers through their hair.

“How do I look?” Aeliana asked Will with a laugh.

He gazed at her.

“Like my wife.”

She glowed.

“You have my father to speak to.”

“Do you think he would refuse me your hand?” he asked.

“My hand?” she said as she fretted with the collar of her dress, pulling it into place. “He has been pushing my entire self in your direction since we first met.”

Will’s face fell.

“I’m glad for it,” she reassured him. “My father clearly has impeccable taste.”

She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him.

“Come,” she urged. “We shall speak to him. I can do most of the talking, if you prefer.”

Will chuckled.

“The woman of my dreams!”

* * *

 

Cassius and Rufina burst into their atrium, quarreling.

“Can you not have him arrested?” she said.

“Rufina, don’t be a fool,” he said, exasperated.

“Do not call me a fool, father, you raised me.”

She flopped down on the lounge and began to rummage through the fruit bowl for grapes. Cassius called for more wine.

“There is wine,” Rufina said, pointing at the carafe.

“It will be empty soon,” Cassius replied, and poured himself a full glass.

A slave girl brought out a large round jug and began to fill the pitcher.

“Leave it!” he snapped. She obeyed and hurried off.

Rufina rolled her eyes.

“Will Capanna is a little brat,” Cassius muttered.

“He really is,” Rufina said. “I’ve only seen him at the arena twice and the first time he saw Hannibal performed he vomited…  _vomited_ , in the amphitheater exit. Now he thinks he wants to own a gladiator, but not let him fight! Just keep him as a pet, I suppose… more exotic than his mangy dogs.”

“Twat,” her father replied.

Rufina laughed.

“Oh, but to own a champion!” she sighed. “One who would actually fight for us, bring us prestige.”

“I owe my soul to Fredo Ligare, now.”

“The jokes on him,” she said, pulling apart a fig. “Yours is already damned.”

The senator cackled and gulped his wine.

Not long after, he had finished the carafe and began to drink directly from the jug. Rufina found it time to retire to her room, and she called out to be waited on. There was no answer, so she began to wander.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

She looked over at her father, who was muttering in a stupor on the bench.

“By the gods, am I to undress myself?”

Cassius soon faded.

* * *

 

Darkness had fallen entirely when Will returned to his home. The night had many turns for him. Possibly losing Hannibal, but making love to Aeliana, and gaining her through clumsy proposal. Her father was delighted, and now Will stumbled a bit, as he stepped down from the carriage, from being supplied with celebratory wine. As he walked toward the villa, he smelled the most enticing aroma coming from the area of the barracks. He saw a glowing light, and the sound of men laughing.

He followed the pleasing senses to the yard, and saw a slab of meat on a spit rotating over the fire pit. Feeling enormously drunk-hungry, he wandered into the gathering where soldiers sat drinking from jugs, eating, and enjoying themselves. Hannibal approached with a broad smile that was very uncharacteristically expressive for him.

“Dominus,” he said with a bow. “Please join us.”

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “That smells… wonderful… right now.”

“It is roasted pork,” he said. “You seemed interested in Chinese culture, so I thought I might prepare something in a style inspired by the region.”

“I apologize for my lateness, I told you no more than three hours, but I was detained.”

“Do not apologize,” he said, carving the meat onto a plate. It had a lacquered exterior, but as he cut into it, juice dripped into the fire and crackled. “The pork has had plenty of time to roast.”

He handed Will a plate and sat next to him on a bench. He placed a jug of good house wine between their feet. Will pulled apart the meat and it was incredibly succulent. He bit into it, and couldn’t help but continue to devour.

“Jove in heaven,” he moaned happily, “what is in this?”

“Honey,” Hannibal replied, “and other spices that Octavio helped me find in the villa kitchen. I hope you do not mind that I helped myself to them.”

“You ask me if I mind? This is delicious!”

Hannibal smiled and watched Will eat. He looked extremely pleased with himself, and an intense fondness came over his face.

“Where is Octavio?” Will asked.

“He ate a bit, but then excused himself,” Hannibal answered.

“Perhaps he was jealous of your culinary eminence,” Will joked. “Octavio is quite the cook, but this, this is magnificent. The sweetness of the honey, with the flavor of the pork, I‘ve never tasted anything like it.”

“You do me great honor,” Hannibal replied.

“You are in good spirits,” Will said, “all things considered.”

“What do you mean, Dominus?”

Will looked at him with a morose expression.

“I assumed you had overheard the conversation between Fredo, Cassius, and I,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I did hear,” Hannibal said, pouring wine into a glass. He offered it to Will.

“Please,” he said gesturing it away, “I’ve had enough tonight, gratitude.”

“Oh?” Hannibal kept the glass, nursing it slowly.

Will paused for a moment then said, “I asked Aeliana’s father for her hand in marriage. He responded with toasts. And then several… five more toasts.”

Hannibal sipped the wine through his teeth, paused, and then nodded.

“I will be honored to call her Domina,” he said.

Will seemed content with that answer.

“Gods willing,” he said with his mouth a bit full, “that you may stay with us.”

“Do not underestimate the gods of my people,” Hannibal answered, the smile returning to his face. “They watch out for their own.”

“May they watch over you, dear friend,” Will replied.

“I find that the gods reward the faithful,” Hannibal said.

“Indeed.”

“There is no better sign of faithfulness than affirming one’s trust,” he continued. “No better affirmation of trust than simply acting on the assumption that they will provide.”

“How is that?”

“I want to show you what I have been working on in my spare time, Dominus. Would you accompany me inside the barracks?”

Will nodded, and put down his plate. He followed Hannibal into the common area, where a small tempering forge was lit, and two metal rods protruded from it. Hannibal retrieved a bit of rubbing charcoal from a nearby table. He removed his wrist guard, revealing the initials of Fredo Ligare on his arm.

“If you will permit me to show you what I had in mind…”

Will leaned over his arm.

“Capanna, it means “rustic homestead.”

“It does.”

Hannibal began to draw on the brand with the charcoal, connecting the F to the L and adding a foot the left of F. The resulting image looked like a very stylized etching of a small house. He then inserted a large “C” in the middle of the house.

“I love it,” Will said with sincerity.

Then Hannibal pulled one of the rods out of the forge. It was glowing hot, with a flat edge.

“You will have to hold it in place long enough to burn the existing brand, so that the scar matches evenly.”

“Hannibal,” Will said, “I don’t think I can brand you.”

“Please, Dominus,” he said. “My only alternative is to cut away my skin.”

Will winced, and took the rod in his hand. Hannibal sat at the table and lay his arm down flat.

“I can’t imagine how much this will hurt,” he said.

“Nothing I haven’t experienced many times over,” Hannibal assured him.

Will put his hand on Hannibal’s wrist and aimed the rod. He pressed it up against the charcoal lines Hannibal had drawn on his arm. His skin sizzled and Hannibal growled, gritting his teeth. Will looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Please continue Dominus,” Hannibal breathed, “before the iron cools.”

Will obliged, completing the top, middle, and bottom lines of the capanna. Then he pushed the iron back into the fire, and removed the second one, which curved at the tip. Hannibal took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. Will pushed the curved iron into the middle of the brand, leaving behind a blackened “C” within the image of the little house. He put away the iron and stared at Hannibal, who was examining the brand. He was very composed, with only beads of sweat on his face to show that he had ever been in pain.

“Does it please you?” Hannibal asked him.

“Very much,” Will answered softly.

“Thank you, Dominus,” Hannibal said with respectful nod. “I bear your proud mark, and now the gods see that I expect to stay. I am happy tonight.”

* * *

 

Will awoke to his dark bedroom. He felt afraid for no identifiable reason. He looked around, examining his comfortable chamber. Suddenly his eyes fell on a corner of the room. Something was wrong, he sensed, but it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. A dark figure stood in the corner, stooping forward, but his face turned upward. Will held his breath. He couldn’t move or speak, but stared at the strange intruder. As he stared, he made out the features of the man’s face.

It was Doctore Ren.

Will felt throbbing pain in his chest from ensuing panic. He could now see the blood dripping from Ren’s crucified hands, chunks of flesh missing from his torso, his crotch bloodied and pierced. His eyes were sunken in, but wide open in a ghastly rage.

Will opened his mouth, attempting to call out for help, but nothing escaped but a pitiful croak. The figure suddenly lurched forward and scrambled across his bed with unnatural speed. His deathly, hate-filled face drew close to his own.

“Where are my children?” he hissed.

Will shook his head.

“Where are my children?!

“I… I don’t know… I don’t know…” Will squeaked.

“LIAR!” Ren screamed, spittle falling on Will’s face. “TELL ME! WHERE HAVE YOU TAKEN THEM?!”

Ren pulled out a knife, and it was shining and curved as Hannibal’s.

“I don’t know where they are!” Will cried out.

Ren plunged the knife into Will’s gut and began to slice, screaming again and again, “WHERE ARE THEY?! WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?!”

Will sat up in bed with a loud shriek. Daylight poured through the shutters. He heard quick footsteps and then his door opened. A slave girl peeked in.

“Dominus?” she asked.

Will shuddered, wiping away the sweat on his face and neck.

“Nightmare. Only a nightmare.”

* * *

 

Cassius Porcius groaned and rolled over on the bench, almost falling off. The nearly-empty jug of wine tipped over and spilled the remainder of its contents. He set it upright and tried to stand, clutching his head.

“Tacitus!” he called out for his vilicus. There was no answer. He got up and walked down the hall to Rufina’s bedroom. Her bed was a mess, but no one was there. “Oh, fuck the gods,” He whispered, pressing his fingers to his brow. He looked into the bathroom, but it was empty as well.

“Is there no one left in this house?!” he screamed. He heard movement in the kitchen, and footsteps coming toward him. It was the cook, Alba.

“Dominus,” she answered.

“Where the fuck is everyone?” Cassius grumbled.

“Tacitus instructed us all to stay in our quarters until you awoke. He said it was at your command.”

“My command?” Cassius asked, and then realized that he couldn't be sure of what he said last night. “Where is Tacitus?”

“I have not seen him, Dominus.”

“Rufina?”

“I do not know, I am sorry, Dominus.”

“Oh for gods’ sake…” Cassius sat again. “Alba, bring me my breakfast.”

“Yes Dominus,” she bowed and went back to the kitchen.

“And tell them all to come back inside!” he called after her.

The house-slaves returned to the main domus, and began cleaning up the dishes, wine, and leftover fruit. One filled a bath for Cassius, while the other went to Rufina’s bedroom to make her bed and clean up the floor where a pile of blankets had gathered. The slave lifted them up and cried out suddenly.

“Must we make such fucking noise?!” Cassius yelled. “Tacitus!”

Slaves began to gather outside of Rufina’s room.

“What is going on?” Cassius asked, pushing his way into her room. On the floor lie a puddle of blood, and a statuette, also covered in blood, bits of scalp, and strands of curly red hair. He stumbled and clutched at the wall.

“Gods!” he shrieked. “Where is Rufina?”

The slaves didn’t move, only stared.

“Tacitus!” Cassius called out. “Someone bring me Tacitus, immediately! And call the guard!”

 

Word of Rufina’s disappearance and apparent murder spread through Rome like tenement fire. Octavio returned to bring the news to Will, but found that Aeliana had already told him. She sat in the atrium in a daze as Will ran out to tell Hannibal.

“Madame Flos,” Octavio said, bowing, “my condolences on the death of your friend.”

Aeliana nodded, barely looking up. She had given Will the news and he had darted out the door without much more conversation. It wasn't that she needed consoling. Rufina was not exactly a friend. It was how he looked when he found out that Senator Porcius was under investigation and therefore was no longer in a prime position to steal away his doctore. He seemed unable to hide a certain relief, enthusiasm even.

“Cassius killing his own daughter,” Aeliana said. “I do not understand.”

“It is only an investigation, Madame,” Octavio said. She locked eyes with him. His tone seemed unsure.

“You doubt the evidence?” she asked.

Interrogators had questioned the slaves at House Porcius. They all said the same thing: that Tacitus, the vilicus, had instructed them to remain away from the main domus until Cassius awoke. That Cassius was drinking heavily and they had heard sounds of quarreling. A witness outside the domus claimed that he saw two men riding away on a horse, with a large parcel draped over the nape of its neck. In the morning the house was a mess, Cassius couldn't remember a thing, and Tacitus remains missing.

“I do not know for certain, what I think Madame,” Octavio said carefully. “The truth will out itself, I am sure.”

She gestured at him to come closer, and he did.

“What is on your mind?”

Octavio looked out the atrium window to where Hannibal stood, waiting for Will to approach.

“Only concern for my dominus’ household,” Octavio said, “after such horrifying news.”

He bowed and began to walk away.

“Octavio,” Aeliana called.

“Madame?”

“What do you think of Hannibal?” she asked.

“He is a gifted doctore, and I enjoy his company.”

“Why did you look at him when I asked you what was on your mind?” she pressed. “And don’t tell me you were looking at Will, I know that wasn't the case.”

Octavio looked extremely uncomfortable. Aeliana patted the cushion next to her on the bench, and he accepted the invitation.

“On the night Dominus took you home, and asked you to be his wife,” Octavio began. “The night Rufina disappeared.”

Aeliana nodded, coaxing him on.

“Will commanded him to hold down the villa. I heard it from the window.”

“Yes, he did,” Aeliana said.

“I looked for him not long after, to ask him about the commotion that had taken place. I did not find him. He was nowhere on the grounds. It was at least two hours before he entered the villa and asked for help finding ingredients and drink in the kitchen. He was preparing a pig.”

Aeliana didn't understand.

“There was not one less pig on the plantation.”

“He hunted? A wild boar, perhaps?”

“When I was a lad, my people were nomadic, due to the warring tribes and the violence that was brought upon any group that didn't have an army to protect them. We ventured out, trying to find a place where we could be safe, and finding none, we began to die. From the cold, wild animals, raiders, and mostly--starvation.”

Aeliana hunched over, somberly listening to Octavio speak.

The adults had experienced starvation during difficult times in their own past. Nothing quite like this, but they could fight through the pangs in their stomachs. We children could not, we began to cry and beg for anything to ease the pain. And when some of us began to die from the starvation, our parents had no choice but to use the flesh of the dead, to save the living.

“Gods,” Aeliana gasped, tears forming in her eyes.

“I have walked through the underworld, and come out the other side. The late Senator Capanna bought me from a cruel owner thirty years ago. He showed me grace I had never experienced.”

Aeliana put her hand on his.

“For over twenty of those years, I've been the vilicus. I have overseen the kitchens, tasted the food of every banquet, and learned every recipe that is to be served to my noble domini. No edible meat native to this land is strange to me. What Hannibal served to the men and to the dominus was not pork. I can’t be sure, though… please, Madame, I tell you I can’t be sure.”

Aeliana’s face filled with horror.

“Octavio,” she whispered, “What are you trying to tell me?”

“That I knew that taste,” he said, “from a memory, stained on my tongue from so many years ago.”

She stood upright, panting.

“Madame, forgive me,” Octavio stood, “It is perhaps the dementia of an old man.”

Aeliana shook her head. She looked out the window to see Will walking back to the villa, with his arm around Hannibal’s back. He looked pleased. Hannibal strode along with confidence, looking down at her betrothed with an expression of knowing. She felt the throes of panic.

“Octavio,” she said, “Please tell Will that I had to return home.”

She walked quickly for the door.

“Madame Flos!” Octavio called after her. She turned to look at him. “My dominus loves you. Please, do not abandon him now, when he needs you most.”

“I simply need to return home, that is all, that is all,” she said, her voice quaking. By the time Hannibal and Will entered the villa, she was gone.

“Octavio!” Will said. “Have you heard the news of Senator Porcius and Rufina?”

“I have, Dominus,” he replied, bowing. “Most gruesome events.”

“Indeed,” Will said, “Have someone bring wine for two to my cubiculum. Enjoy a glass yourself, if you are so inclined. Mornings like these require a certain lack of sobriety.”

The two men entered the cubiculum.

“Dominus,” Octavio said, entering the room with the wine platter. “Fredo Ligare is here, and would like to speak to you.”

“I’m not surprised. Let him in.”

Fredo walked into the cubiculum, leaning heavily on his cane.

“I am here on behalf of my dear friend, Senator Cassius Porcius.”

“Dear friend, oh yes,” Will replied. He had already begun to drink. He offered some wine to Hannibal, who shook his head politely. He made no offer to Fredo.

Fredo sniffed a laugh and looked down.

“The events that took place here a few nights ago were unfortunate.”

“For some,” Hannibal said.

Fredo bristled and looked back at him.

“They are not grounds for ruining a man’s existence.”

“No one ruins Porcius but himself,” Will stated.

“His only daughter has gone missing,” Fredo said in a persuasive tone. “Presumably dead. And now he is under investigation for murder!” He lowered his voice to a half-whisper “There is rumor about that incest was involved.”

Will looked disgusted.

“Perhaps these accusations are founded,” he said.

“They absolutely are not!” Fredo retorted. “They have been circulated by a man who overextends his retaliations!”

“You are implying that I had a hand in this?”

“Who else?” Fredo asked. “I stood right beside you, outside of your villa when you admonished him. You were angry, understandably, but this goes too far, Will.”

He shook his head.

“I have nothing to do with what happened to Rufina.”

“I… did not imply that,” Fredo said, but he sounded as if it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

“And I have nothing to do with the investigation of Cassius, nor have I started any rumors as to his involvement in the crime. This is paranoia.”

“Perhaps someone in your household…”

“What?” Will snapped. “Acted without my orders or permission?”

“I am merely suggesting…”

“That I am not dominus of my own house?”

Will gestured so strongly that the wine splashed out of his glass onto his hand.

“I will take my leave, Magister Capanna,” Fredo said with a bow.

As he headed for the door, Hannibal reached out and opened it for him, prominently displaying his forearm. Fredo looked at it, and back at Will.

“He bears your mark,” Fredo said.

“He is the doctore of my guard,” Will answered.

“Doctore rules the men in the barracks,” Fredo said, “and dominus rules over all.”

“Of course.”

“Yes,” Fredo mused as he limped through the doorway. “Ideally.”

He eyed Hannibal, who gave him a secretive wink.

“I still have legal standing to reclaim Hannibal,” Fredo added, turning to face Will again. “If I so choose. I can’t imagine why I would choose such a thing, but it’s something to keep in mind.”

When Fredo left, Will began to rant.

“I have had it with all these threats and propositions! I've had it with  _people_! It is why I have spent most of my years in my cubiculum with only dogs to keep me company. Why I ever stepped out of my villa in the first place is beyond me!”

Hannibal came close to him and Will relaxed at the sensation of his body heat.

“For what it’s worth,” Hannibal said softly, “I for one am happy you decided to step out.”

He lifted his hand to Will’s face and brushed his neck and jaw line with the back of his fingers. He brought his own face close, and then Octavio stepped into the doorway. Will pulled away.

“Begging your pardon, Dominus,” Octavio said.

“Yes what is it, Octavio?”

“Senator Cassius Porcius has arrived,” he answered. “He wishes to speak with you.”

“Slavers and pigs, constantly at my doorstep,” Will muttered and took a drink.

Octavo led Cassius in. The man looked like he hadn't slept in days.

“Will Capanna!” he called out as he entered the cubiculum.

“Cassius Porcius!” Will answered facetiously. “Your friend the lanista was only just here.”

“I have come to apologize, most sincerely, for my actions recently.”

“Apology accepted,” Will replied, “Goodbye.”

Hannibal grinned and followed Will from the room. Cassius darted after them.

“My vilicus has gone missing. My daughter…” he choked back tears, “My daughter is gone… her blood is…”

Will stopped and turned back toward him. He felt a twinge of pity for the man.

“Investigators have found a journal in my daughter’s belongings,” he buried his face in his hands. “It talks of… inappropriateness.”

Will cleared his throat anxiously.

“Rumors are going around, saying that she was pregnant, that we quarreled.”

“A journal?” Will asked.

“Yes,” Cassius replied, and his eyes began to glare. His voice became gravelly. “A falsified, planted journal, of course! My daughter would never write such horrific lies about our relationship.”

“Have you brought this up with the investigators?”

“Of course I have!” Cassius screamed. Then he composed himself. “Apologies, Magister Capanna, I am under great duress.”

“So it would seem,” Will replied. “I wish I could help you, but this is none of my business.”

“Please!” Cassius stammered. He approached Will, and Hannibal reached out to put his hand on the man’s chest, keeping him at bay. Cassius looked down and saw the brand on his arm. He looked back at Will and dropped to his knees.

“Please, I’m begging you, Magister Capanna,” he sobbed. “Cease these retaliations against me, and I will speak against you no more. I will be in your debt, please just take this from my head!”

“You have been listening to that snake, Fredo Ligare. He has accused me to you?”

“He merely points out the obvious,” Cassius replied. “I will do anything you ask of me, Magister Capanna, please recant these allegations.”

“I have made no such allegations, Senator!”

“Please!” Cassius hobbled toward him on his knees, and grabbed the hem of Will’s garments. “You have no children. You do not know what it means to be accused of such a ghastly thing, it is unbearable.”

“Cassius,” Will said quietly, “I swear to you… I am not behind this. Fredo Ligare has slandered me, and perhaps it is he who has slandered you as well.”

“Why would he do this?” Cassius asked. “He has nothing to gain from it, and plenty to lose.”

“I do not know the cause of your suffering. Please, get up.”

Cassius stood, tears staining his face.

“No, no,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “This is not Fredo’s doing. This is diabolical. And he who has undertaken such treachery will suffer threefold at the hands of the fates.”

Hannibal put his hand to Cassius’ chest again, backing him away from Will.

“I must ask you to leave, on behalf of my dominus,” Hannibal said. “May your hardships come to an end soon.”

Cassius looked at Hannibal, and then his face filled with hatred. He spat on him, and stormed out.

Hannibal picked up a cloth from beside the wine carafe and glasses, and gently wiped away Cassius’ spit from his face.

“Fredo has poisoned Cassius’ mind,” he said. “He must be held accountable for his ruinous slander against you, Dominus.”

“He will.”

A cry rang out from the yard, and Hannibal and Will rushed outside. Cassius had pulled a sword from an unsuspecting guard and held it aloft. Hannibal drew his and ran toward him.

“For my Rufina, the only possession I truly held dear! My blood is on the grounds of House Capanna!”

He pointed the sword to his heart and fell over upon it, impaling himself.

 

Will sat with Hannibal on the steps to his villa. He stared disbelievingly as Octavio oversaw guards lifting Cassius’ body into a carriage. A puddle of blood was indeed on the grounds, soaking into the dirt. A slave approached and began to dig the bloody ground into a wheelbarrow and push it away.

“Hannibal,” Will said thoughtfully, “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything, Dominus.”

“When we went to see Fredo, after Ren had attacked him, he told me that Ren was asking for his children.”

“I had heard about that,” Hannibal responded.

“But Fredo claims that they are in a villa rustica, being schooled.”

“For all I am aware, that is true.”

“Why did Ren believe otherwise?”

“I cannot say, Dominus,” Hannibal answered. “Perhaps he hadn't heard from them in so long, he began to have his doubts, and it clouded his mind.”

Will nodded.

“Do you have any idea where the villa rustica is?”

“No, I am sorry Dominus. Fredo never mentioned the location to me.”

“Do you know the children?”

“I never met them,” Hannibal replied. “I only know that their late mother was Hebrew, and her son and daughter are named Jonah and Abigail.”

Will continued staring as the carriage brought Cassius’ body back to Rome where it belonged.

“Why do you ask?”

“I intend to bring charges of defamation against Fredo Ligare,” Will said. “I want to make sure that those children are, in fact, safe.”

“Defamation charges only stand if the accused cannot provide evidence that his words held reason.”

“What evidence could Fredo provide?”

“He is treacherous,” Hannibal warned. “He could surely fabricate something.”

“So what am I to do?” asked Will.

“While I was under House Ligare,” Hannibal explained, “I was put in charge of a few unsavory matters for Fredo.”

“Fredo mentioned that you helped him with legal issues.”

Hannibal continued, “I was asked to keep tabs on some transactions. I am ashamed that I was made to do it, but I obeyed. I know where Fredo keeps the record of these transactions. If you allow me to fetch them, you can provide them to the council and it will prove that he is a disreputable individual. You will surely win your case.”

“How will you gain entrance to Fredo’s property?” he asked.

“The records were kept off-villa, in a house nearby.”

Will blinked.

“You are incredibly resourceful, Hannibal.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

“Please, retrieve the records. Fredo must be silenced before any more harm is done.”

* * *

 

When the council gathered, Senator Metellus acted as chairman. Will sat in the balcony overlooking the basilica floor. Fredo’s cane clicked on the marble as he sauntered in. He didn’t appear to be concerned.

“Fredo Ligare, you are being charged with defamation against Will Capanna. What say you in your defense?’

“That the advice I gave to Senator Porcius was well founded, and cannot be considered defamation.”

“You advised Senator Cassius Porcius that Will Capanna was responsible for the investigation against him and planted evidence in his home.”

“The both of us had equal suspicion of Magister Capanna.”

“Senator Porcius lies dead now because of the paranoia that filled his head.”

“A most tragic circumstance,” Fredo replied. “One that I wish I could have prevented.”

“Will Capanna charges that it was your whispering in his ear that lead him to lose his grip on reality, and made him feel as though he must kill himself.”

“Outrageous,” said Fredo.

“But you do admit that you made these accusations against Will Capanna to Senator Porcius?”

“Yes, but I intend to testify as to why these accusations were reasonable.”

“We still have to address the matter of whether or not your words are admissible in court.”

Why shouldn't they be?” Fredo asked.

“We have received evidence that you have in the past, and possibly currently, prostituted your female slaves, for a fee.”

Fredo looked stunned.

“I train and sell gladiators,” he replied, shaking his head, “I am not a pimp.”

Senator Metellus pulled a small book in front of him and thumbed through it.

“We have been given this ledger, detailing your female slaves, clients, and rates…”

“What is that? I have no such ledger,” Fredo insisted. “The only female slaves I own are domestics.”

“This evidence was taken from your household, and it bears your signature and seal.”

Fredo approached and looked down at the book. He blinked and stared, utterly confused.

“That’s not my…” he looked at the signature. “That is my signature… But that isn't my ledger…”

“Can you explain why you would sign a ledger that isn't yours? The ledger of a whore-monger, stamped with your seal?”

Fredo stammered and looked up at Metellus.

“I didn't sign this. The signature looks like mine… but…”

“Fredo, this evidence has been given to us from a legitimate source, and we find it compelling.”

“Wait… who?” he continued to stammer but to no avail.

“We have no choice but to declare you, Fredo Ligare,  _infamia_ , and as such, your testimony cannot be heard by this court.”

“What?” Fredo gasped. He stepped back and shook his head.

“In the matter concerning Will Capanna, I declare his accusations of defamation against you valid. I am awarding him your villa, ludus, and estate, at his discretion.”

“No… no…”

“I also order you to be held briefly, awaiting your sentence of corporal punishment in the public arena.”

Fredo shook his head violently.

“No, please… this isn't right… this is treachery. Councilors, I beg of you, I am under attack!”

“No, Fredo,” Metellus sighed, “you are under arrest.”

“Please!” Fredo called out as two guards approached him. “This cannot be! I have done nothing wrong!”

“Magister Capanna,” Metellus said, and turned toward Will as Fredo was removed from the room. “I apologize for all of this. I knew your father. He was a noble man, and a benefactor to all of Rome. He spoke very highly of you, and often. I am sorry that you had to be called here and listen to such accusations against you.”

“Quite all right,” Will replied. “It is done now.”

“Yes,” Metellus replied. “As I have said, you may claim Fredo’s estate, and you will be able to see him be publicly scourged for his actions against you. If you have any further requests as to how that should be done, I will hear them now.”

“I have one request,” Will answered. “That you allow the doctore of my personal guard, Hannibal, to implement the scourge, in the name of my house.”

Metellus smiled.

“Reasonable and well-earned,” he replied. “Your man will do the honors, when it comes time.”

* * *

 

This amphitheater was small, but the seats were filled with spectators eager to see their favorite gladiator perform in a new type of scenario. Aeliana’s face was grim. The horrors of a public scourge did not suit her personal philosophy, but she felt a strange need to bear witness to this particular interaction between her betrothed and his new favored confidant. Her father has asked her why she had not seen Will in a few days, and she could not give him an answer. He urged her to return. She and Will were about to sit in the balcony when a  _familia urbana_ approached them.

“Will Capanna,” he said, bowing, “Senator Metellus requests the honor of your company in the senatorial box.”

Aeliana and Will obliged and joined Metellus, who stood to greet them.

“Magister Capanna, Aeliana Flos, it is a pleasure,” he said.

“The pleasure is ours,” Aeliana answered. “How kind of you to offer us your company.”

“I’m afraid I have an agenda,” Metellus answered somberly as they all took their seats. Will stiffened. He only wished to enjoy his triumph and the sight of Hannibal performing, and return home.

“How may we serve you?” Aeliana asked.

“Eh,” Metellus looked back and forth between Will and Aeliana, seemingly confused as to why she was doing the speaking for them.

“How may we serve you?” Will repeated.

“Please, let me get us refreshment,” Metellus said. He called to his slave to pour wine for himself and his guests. As he did this, Aeliana leaned close to Will and whispered in his ear.

“The favorable ruling against Fredo may have been in anticipation for this ‘agenda.’”

Will grunted.

“Now, to business,” Metellus said when they had their drinks. “I am sure you have heard word of the rebel Spartacus and his army  _fugitivus_.”

“It has come to my attention, yes,” Will answered.

“It has come to the attention of the highest in Rome,” Metellus explained, “and we are all eager to see this rebellion quashed, and peace restored to the republic.”

“As are we all,” Aeliana replied. She looked out at the arena where stood in the center, a wooden arch with shackles dangling from the top beam.

“Unfortunately, Rome’s resources are finite, unlike Spartacus’ continuous recruitment of rebel slaves. Your assistance in financing a special military auxiliary would be put to good use, and also rewarded, with a position of proconsul.”

Aeliana’s eyes widened and she looked at Will. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with the idea of social and political advancement.

“This is an immense honor,” she murmured, more to Will than to the Senator.

“Yes,” Will replied, hurriedly because he saw Hannibal walking toward the center of the theater grounds. He stood beside the arch, with his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I will see what I can do. I’ll have Octavio draw up papers.”

“Gratitude,” Metellus replied. “We will also speak to Senator Marcus Licinius Crassus, which I do not look forward to. The man has an army we might be able to persuade him to lend us.”

“We wish you luck,” Aeliana said. “Rome has seen enough death as of now.”

Metellus nodded at her.

“If you’ll excuse me one moment, I will announce the event.”

The senator rose to his feet and lifted his hands, quieting the crowd.

“Citizens of Rome!” he called out. “The man brought before you today sought to strike discord among his far nobler countrymen through deceit and slander. The honorable House Capanna has chosen their esteemed doctore and former champion of the gladiatorial arena to deliver punishment to the condemned.”

Aeliana glanced at Will to see the distinct look of pride on his face as he watched his gladiator prepare to defend his name. Hannibal turned his face upward toward his dominus, and then bowed to him as the crowd offered a jubilant cheer. He turned to see Fredo emerging from the under-works. Two soldiers gripped him by the arms as he staggered out, unshaven and dressed in a ragged tunic. The crowd booed and their numerous voices created a deep, foreboding sound that caused Aeliana’s stomach to lurch.

The senator continued, “Hannibal, this man sought to defame your own noble dominus! You have been given instruction to scourge him, showing only enough mercy to sustain his wretched life.”

Hannibal smiled and gave Fredo a facetious gesture to approach. The spectators laughed. Will leaned forward to see Fredo’s face, for he noticed his lips were moving. But what was he saying?

Hannibal stood still with a placid expression, head cocked, as Fredo walked toward him. Will tried to read the lanista’s lips, but it was no use. He could see that his eyes were wide, but with shock rather than just fear of the pain that would commence. Fredo reached out and pointed at Hannibal, and began screaming at him. The crowd was too noisy. Will could only hear the sound of his voice, but could not identify the words. He then saw Hannibal smirk at Fredo, and say something back. Fredo shrieked and pulled away from the guards that had grown apathetic from lack of threat. He ran toward Hannibal, thrashing his fists wildly. Hannibal stepped quickly but nonchalantly to one side, not even raising a hand as Fredo stumbled past him. The crowd burst into laughter. Fredo bent over, crying, and Hannibal just looked down at him with subdued amusement.

“For mercy’s sake, Hannibal, get this over with,” Aeliana muttered.

The guards darted forward and pulled Fredo to his feet, then chained his arms above his head to the top beam. Hannibal sauntered toward him and pulled away the strings of his tunic, then dropped it to the sand. Fredo buried his face in his arm, humiliated.

Will tried not to lean forward too far; to let his fiancée see his excitement or his intense arousal. He felt her eyes on him, but he could not look away from his splendidly dominant and sadistic doctore as he stripped Fredo naked.

Hannibal picked up the whip and ran his fingers over the lashes. He stared at Fredo until his former dominus looked back at him, eyes wet and pleading. Then he reeled back his arm and let the whip fly against Fredo’s bare stomach and chest. He screamed and leapt back as much as his chains would allow. Hannibal struck him again, and again, until Fredo collapsed. He hung by his arms with his toes dragging in the sand as he twitched and cried out with each lash. Then Hannibal stopped. He watched Fredo until the man stood himself up, leaning forward with his head down. He walked around to his back and began again.

Will gasped and tried to control his breathing, but his lungs felt tight. Hannibal needed no command to withhold mercy. His face was serene, but determined. His body and posture held such elegant poise as he pulled back and released the whip, balancing the force of his lash with his opposite arm upheld. Drops of blood began to spatter upon the clean white sand. The sound of Fredo’s screams dulled to a hum in Will’s ears. His eyes passed over Hannibal’s controlled movements, his toned arms and shoulders, and his calm face which was only momentarily touched by a tiny sneer with each forward movement. It was similar to how his face looked while he took Will in the bath, a feral snarl passing over his lips with each thrust. He craved him now, more than ever before. He wanted to be the source of all of his beastly pleasures.

Finally Hannibal stopped the scourge of Fredo, who now could not even attempt to stand up again. The lanista’s face was drenched with tears and bloody red stripes created hash marks all over his front and back. Hannibal removed his famous curved knife from his waistband and the crowd began to roar. The guards looked around, unsure of whether they should stop this. Senator Metellus gestured at them to stay. Then Hannibal carefully, almost tenderly, opened Fredo’s mouth and reached inside. Fredo tried to scream, but his voice choked as Hannibal gripped his tongue, pulled it from his mouth, and sliced it out. A chant rose up, as it always had before when Hannibal the Cannibal vanquished his foes in the arena.

“Eat, eat, eat!” the spectators called.

Hannibal turned and looked at Will, lifting the slanderous tongue as an offering to him. Will stood to his feet and watched Hannibal keep still, holding up his prize and waiting; not for the approval of the crowd, not for the decision of the Senator, but for his dominus’ command. Will leaned against the balcony and felt the glory of the moment rush over him. He nodded.

Immediately, Hannibal put the severed tongue to his teeth and bit into it, maintaining eye contact with Will as he devoured it and swallowed.

Blood dribbled from Fredo’s mouth as he hung limp, his face turned to the ground. The guards gestured for his slaves to come out, and they held him up as he was cut down. Aeliana stood and watched them cover his nakedness with a robe and carry him out. He was motionless and bleeding terribly. Will looked only at his doctore, and smiled.

Aeliana was quiet in the carriage, and she made no eye contact with Will. After a long period of awkward silence, Will cleared his throat.

“You are unhappy,” he said.

“I feel as though,” she said, and faltered. “I feel as though I do not know you, as well as I had hoped.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are not the same,” she said. Her voiced cracked a bit as she looked out the window at nothing.

“I do not know what you want from me,” he replied. “You seem to enjoy the idea of me being a social figure, being a proconsul, attending functions, but I have done all these things and you are disappointed.”

“I would sit with you in your garden with your dogs every day, and never drag you into the world, if that is what you wish,” she said.

“If only.”

“To see you inflicting pain on a man who is only a political enemy and to allow Hannibal to mutilate him and... The Will Capanna I knew months ago would be appalled.”

“His words…”

“His words were no threat to you!” she rebuked. “No one, aside from Senator Porcius, now dead, believed him. You destroyed Fredo. On principle.”

“Fredo is not a good man.”

“But you are!” Aeliana declared, finally looking at him. “I believe that you are a good man! I believe that you are a man who derides suffering and offers mercy. Who does not cherish the devastation of others.”

Again silence fell as the carriage bumped along the road.

“I will not seize Fredo’s belongings,” he whispered. Aeliana sniffed.

“There is only one last thing I want from Fredo,” he continued.

“What is that?” she asked.

“That he tells me what has happened to his former doctore’s children. So that I may see that they are well cared for.”

Aeliana dabbed a tear away from her eye.

“Will you threaten him?” she asked.

“No,” Will answered. “I merely hope that he will tell me, for their sake, and to put this whole event behind us.”

Aeliana nodded and held Will’s hand for the rest of the ride to her home.

* * *

 

When Will heard the sound of training in the barracks yard, he wandered out of his villa. Hannibal had returned and was overlooking the guards, his arms crossed and his whip attached to his belt. Will stared at it, the way it jostled a bit when Hannibal moved quickly to give instruction. He walked up to the fence beside the yard and watched until Hannibal noticed his presence and bowed to him.

“Dominus.”

Will shivered.

“Perhaps you should rest for the remainder of the afternoon, you've had an eventful day,” he said with a smirk.

Hannibal showed him his rare wide smile.

“Join me,” Will said, and turned back toward the villa.

“Yes, Dominus,” Hannibal replied. He called out to the guards to continue training until supper, and quickly joined Will at his side.

“How fare the men?” Will asked.

“They have falsely advertised themselves,” Hannibal scoffed. “But they learned from that.”

“I’m sure by now they regret having overstated their skills.”

Hannibal glanced back at the yard before they entered the villa.

“Deeply,” he said, and grinned at the young dominus.

Will faced him and reached out to toy with the handle of the whip on Hannibal’s belt. Hannibal cocked his head and looked at him thoughtfully.

“Join me in my  _cubiculum_ ,” Will said.

Hannibal followed him into the room and Will poured a glass of wine. He offered it to Hannibal, who gladly accepted, and then poured another for himself.

“You enjoyed punishing Fredo,” Will stated.

“For the honor of my dominus,” Hannibal said, and sipped his wine. He let it linger in his mouth and then swallowed with a delicate smack.

Will smiled and watched his appraisal of the drink.

“That’s not how I mean,” he said in a softer voice.

Hannibal came closer to him and turned the hip that bore the whip toward Will.

“You imply that I take pleasure in causing the suffering of others.”

Will reached out and removed the whip from Hannibal’s waistband. It tugged at his belt a bit as he pulled it from him, creating a satisfying scraping leather sound. He was surprised at how heavy it felt in his hand, as he had seen Hannibal wield it with the deftness and fluidity that one might wield a quill pen. He noticed that Hannibal was looking at him with narrowed eyes, and he felt suddenly ashamed again. The man had a way of making him realize how obvious and naked his thoughts were to him. He shook his head and handed the whip back to the man.

Hannibal took it by the wooden handle and gripped the leather strips in his hand, pulling them tight. He stared at the stretched lashes, thinking. Will gulped his wine and set it down on the desk, walking away from him.

“There is pleasure to be found in all things,” Hannibal said. There was a curious depth to his voice that caused Will to want to be near him again, but he stayed on his side of the desk. Hannibal continued, “We must all search for balance. Those who have been immersed wholly in suffering seek gratification, and those who have experienced copious indulgence, seek pain.”

As Hannibal spoke he turned away from the desk, rolling the whip in his hand and steadily lowering his voice, coaxing Will to come closer in order to hear.  When he approached, Hannibal stepped toward him suddenly, looming over him.

“Do you crave balance?” he asked.

Will looked up at Hannibal as he felt his personal space being forcibly invaded. It was different from the night in the bath, where he felt control over the situation. He had pressed upon him, partially clothed, while Hannibal stood naked, wounded, weak, vulnerable, and having just been rescued from hell. This new context was alarming, seeing that the dignified slave was ready and willing to be the initiator, and he practically vibrated with strength and confidence. Not to mention, Will still wasn't sure what the man felt behind his subdued exterior. Will looked downward, trying to observe the man’s body language, anything to make him feel like he had the upper hand, or at least stood on equal ground. He felt fingers underneath his chin, lifting his face upward. Hannibal’s eyes perforated the already frail veneer of superiority and control Will attempted to construct.

“Whatever you wish, Dominus,” he said. Will looked up at the beams in his cubiculum ceiling.

Hannibal didn't need further instruction, and his decisiveness without verbal command made Will feel deliciously nervous. He put the whip down on the desk, pulled Will’s lacerna off of him, and twisted the long narrow cloth into a rope which he flung over one of the beams. He then took Will’s hands and bound them together with one end. Will began to tremble. Hannibal grabbed the opposite end of the cloth which dangled from the beam and pulled, lifting Will’s arms above his head. He released a quaking murmur as Hannibal pulled harder, stretching him upward toward the ceiling, nearly on his toes. Then he tied the cloth rope to itself and looked Will over. The young dominus’ eyes were squeezed shut. Hannibal patted him on the cheek, and he opened them again. He was clearly afraid, but he didn't attempt to stop what was happening to him. He stared quietly as Hannibal began to strip his tunic away from him, much like he had done to Fredo in the arena.

There was no crowd here to watch him be stripped naked, no condemning eyes upon him, no one to laugh or cheer at his suffering, but he understood the man’s humiliation. Hannibal’s face was touched with restrained amusement. He took his whip in hand and brushed the leather strips against Will’s torso. The young man was shaking and sweating.

“W-wait,” he said, and Hannibal narrowed his eyes once more. Will was out of breath, trying hard to swallow. He peered around his bound arms at Hannibal. “I can’t have marks. Someone will see.”

“I will leave only temporary welts, Dominus,” Hannibal said in a soft voice, leaning close to Will. He could feel the breath of his words on his moist face. Will could only nod, quivering noticeably. Hannibal backed away, giving himself plenty of room to move. He glanced over Will’s body and smirked at his erection. The small grin made Will whimper, and he was further humiliated by how pathetic he must sound. He remembered how Fredo had looked in the theater, shrieking and pulling back with each blow, how he tried desperately to hide his face and nudity, but the pain had stolen any last shred of dignity from him. Will didn’t know why, but he felt tears began to fill his eyes.

“I haven’t even started yet, Dominus,” Hannibal said in a wicked tone.

Will tried to control his shaking, but it only made his breathing come out in strained gasps. When Hannibal reeled back his arm, and took his balanced stance, Will cried out. A deep blush filled his face when Hannibal laughed and lowered his whip.

“Wait,” Will repeated. Hannibal pulled his arm back again, but only a minor distance this time. “I… I don’t think I can… please…”

Hannibal thrashed the whip horizontally across Will’s belly. He lurched and his mouth flew open, his eyes wide. It wasn't a heavy lash as it left only pink welts, but it stung terribly. Hannibal waited merely a second before thrashing the whip back in the opposite direction. He belted the whip back and forth, side to side, moving his way up Will’s stomach to his chest. Will pulled away, but with the short length of the cloth rope, he was only able to move back slightly and it raised him to his toes. When Hannibal laid the lash across his chest, and they struck his nipples, stifled whimpers turned into cries. Hannibal stopped and tilted an ear to the door, pausing a moment before picking up a cloth next to the wine carafe and stuffing it into Will’s mouth.

“Hannibal!” Will choked out right before he was gagged. He shook his head, but Hannibal continued. Any fear Will had felt before now was miniscule in comparison. Now he was truly at his mercy, and Hannibal was not in the least bit afraid of his master’s position over him. Hannibal worked the whip back down his chest and to his belly, and the lashes struck over existing welts. Now the sting became an unbearable searing sensation, and Will couldn't hold back tears falling down his face and chin. Again and again Hannibal struck him, until the entire front of his torso was a blotchy welt tinged with delicate stripes of red.

He stopped and admired his work, touching the most sensitive areas of Will’s skin. Will gazed at him through his arms, his face drenched in tears and sweat. He shook his head again, whimpering through his nose. Hannibal looked down at the young man’s cock, now shriveled due to fear and pain. He clicked his tongue, tucked his whip under his arm, and reached down to fondle him. Will breathed heavily and closed his eyes. Hannibal’s touch aroused him and the mixture of endorphins brought him much-needed relief. He moaned into his gag as Hannibal stroked him to erection once more. Then Hannibal took hold of his whip and walked around to his backside. Will followed him with fearful eyes and when he stood behind him he tried to twist around, but Hannibal pushed him forward again. He pleaded to him through the gag, and Hannibal chuckled.

Again, Hannibal began to lash the whip back and forth, back and forth, this time across Will’s shoulder blades. Will gripped the cloth rope in his hands, giving himself comforting leverage, but also pulling himself up on his toes so that he was forced to teeter to maintain balance.

The fondling that Hannibal had given him was bringing the sting of the lash a new kind of intensity. Every sensation seemed to meld together; the persistent burn on his front, the individual biting stings on his back, the effect of the degradation and helplessness, the lingering feel of Hannibal’s wanton examinations, all creating a delirious clarity of the mind. The whip struck now across his buttocks, causing him to lurch forward and twist about. And then up again, back and forth, with a “thwack… thwack… thwack…” As the lashes struck again over already welted skin, he could concentrate on nothing more than the horrible, mind-numbing burn.

Then it stopped. Will hung by his wrists, clutching the cloth rope in his hands. His knees had given out and his feet were dragging on the floor. He became aware of the end, and realized that he had been sobbing. For how long, he did not know, but he couldn't stop now even though the thrashing had ended.

Hannibal reached around and pulled the damp cloth out of Will’s mouth. He gasped and tried to regain his composure. He felt Hannibal tenderly dragging the back of his knuckles over his painful back. He traced his fingers over particularly raised welts and red areas, surveying the effect he had created. Will looked behind him and licked his parched lips. Hannibal noticed and went to fetch his wine glass, filled it, and brought it to his master’s mouth. Will slowly lifted himself to his feet and gulped the wine. A bit trickled down his chin and neck. Hannibal put the glass aside and wiped Will’s face with his former gag. He dabbed away the wine, and then his tears, and the sweat on his brow. Then Hannibal began to run his rough hands over his body. Will winced when he brushed over his nipples with his fingernails.

“Hannibal,” he whispered. “Please say you are finished with me.”

Hannibal grinned, and Will began to shake again and his breath became ragged.

“Oh… please…” he begged, but was interrupted by a forceful kiss. Hannibal’s hand dropped down and he began to fondle Will once more, lightly pulling and stroking his cock. The endorphins rushed through his body, mingling with the pain and every confusing emotion and desire he felt, and he was high. He felt his body hum and glow as a buzzing sound filled his ears. He went limp, but Hannibal held him up against him as he groped. Then he felt his arms being lowered a bit, so that his hands were level with his shoulders. Hannibal was behind him again, and was pushing his legs apart. Will looked over his shoulder in a daze. Hannibal spat into his hand and then pushed his fingers between his legs, probing and lubricating him.

Will’s mouth hung open as he furrowed his brow and shivered from the touch. Hannibal put a hand on Will’s upper back, below his neck and pushed him down and forward so that his arms were pulled backward and his face was aimed to the floor. He kicked his legs apart even further, and pushed his fingers inside of him.

Will moaned and twitched. He could barely pull his thoughts together. He felt intensely drunk, though he had little to drink. Hannibal’s weighty hand stayed on his upper back, keeping him in a stooped position. He gasped when he felt his cock inside of him, filling him up with yet another overwhelming sensation. Hannibal fucked him as frail chirps emitted from the back of Will’s throat with his thrusts. All the young man could do was look over his shoulder, rubbing his face against his arm, mouth open with each short whimper. Hannibal pressed his belly and chest against Will’s back, shoving himself deeper and fucking him faster. He bit his lip and snarled and groaned. Will watched him with blurring vision. He blinked several times, spiraling further into a trance. He heard Hannibal growl and then moan, and felt him cum inside of him, felt the heat between his legs and the weight lift up off his back and shoulders.

He remained stooped forward, and lost awareness of his surroundings until he felt himself standing up and his arms dropping to his sides. Hannibal had untied him, and was supporting him as he brought him to the couch. He lay him down, and Will shuddered at the feel of the byssus cloth cushion against his raw skin. He tasted more wine being dribbled into his mouth, and a blanket pulled over him. Then he felt the embrace of his tormentor who lied down next to him on the couch, spooning against him, cradling him, and kissing the back of his neck.

* * *

 

Mentioning Ren’s children had coaxed Aeliana back into Will’s company. They spoke of turning one of the spare cubicula into a classroom, and Aeliana admitted that she relished the idea of being a teacher and caretaker for the orphans. All that remained was urging Fredo to tell him where they were.

Will helped Aeliana up into the carriage, and then climbed in himself. When he sat back he winced a bit, and she looked at him with concern.

“Pain?” she asked.

“It is but a sunburn,” he replied.

She discreetly peered through the opening in the side of his tunic and saw red lash-marks curving around his side. She quickly looked ahead. 

When they arrived and asked to speak to Fredo, they were told that he would not have any visitors.

“I am Will Capanna, I have authority to seize these grounds and all property within. He will see me.”

Again, the two made their way into the villa. Fredo was reclined on a couch, covered in blankets. He was a pitiful sight. When he saw Will and Aeliana, he moaned and looked toward the wall.

“Fredo,” Aeliana said in a kind voice, “we come in good faith.”

He scoffed.

“I will tell you now, Fredo,” Will said. “I do not intend to fully sue you.”

Fredo looked back at him. His vilicus brought forth a parchment, quill, and ink, and lay them on the table before him. He began to write.

_What do you want?_

“To clear my conscience,” Will said. “And to eliminate this feud between us.”

_It is eliminated, along with my tongue_.

“I cannot give you back your tongue, Fredo,” Will replied. “I can, however, allow you to keep your possessions and your business.”

_Where is your gladiator?_

“He is in my barracks, keeping my home secure.”

_Did he not wish to clear his conscience as well?_

“Naturally he does not hold you in high esteem,” Will said, “after all of the beatings you gave him, to put him into submission.”

_He told you that I beat him?_  Fredo wrote.

“I saw his scars,” Will answered.

_He had those scars when he came to me. Hannibal was always a well-behaved slave, to my knowledge. I had no reason to punish him like that._

Will glared at him.

_Although, if there is only one thing I regret in this wretched life of mine, it is bringing Hannibal into my ludus._

“Fredo,” Aeliana said, “we would like to speak to you about Doctore Ren’s children.”

_What about them?_

“We want to find them, and give them a good home. I myself will teach them and make sure they are taken care of,” she answered.

Fredo lifted the parchment to his face and scratched upon it with the quill while they waited. He set it down, and they read:

_You have a cannibal in your villa. I cannot, in good conscience, allow innocent children to be taken there. Gratitude for your mercy, but I must ask you to leave all of us in peace._


	3. The Viper in the Barracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some helpful words:  
> Triclinium - special dining room for feasts and parties, that contained dining couches as permanent fixtures  
> Praetor - a Roman official of higher political standing than a senator
> 
> This fiction contains an intact actual scene from Spartacus: Vengeance, in order to give context.

Will sat behind his desk in his cubiculum as Octavio poured him a glass of wine from a large, round glass jug. He looked to one side, and saw Aeliana sitting in a chair, gripping the arms with her hands, digging fingernails into the wood and staring ahead.

“Aeliana,” he said in surprise at her being in this room, but his words came out as if they were wrapped in cotton. She didn’t look up, and her nails made louder scraping sounds against the arms of her chair. Her lips began to move, but her voice was too quiet to hear.

“Dominus,” Octavio said, and handed him the glass. He lifted it to his lips and drank. His eyes closed in ecstasy. The taste was beyond intoxicating. The wine coated his mouth in a delightful sweetness, and he couldn’t stop the flood of different notes, each entering his mind at a different time. They began as succulent fruits, barrel woods, flowers, childhood smells, and began to enter nonsensical abstracts such as pride and security.

“Does the dominus enjoy the taste?” he heard a familiar voice say in a distinguished accent.

He opened his eyes and looked at the glass jug on the desk before him. Something swirled within it. Streams of red within red, circling around a center. He looked closer, and the center rotated slowly. Floating in the wine, the severed head of Rufina Cassius looked back at him.

Will’s sleep had become increasingly fitful and filled with such bad dreams. Sometimes he awoke in the night, scanning the darkest corners of his room for strange figures. He found himself dozing quite a bit during the day. Today he sat in the warm sun of his garden, reclined on the bench, with his head in Aeliana’s lap. She always enjoyed sitting with him in the garden, but even more so these days. In fact, it seemed to be the only place she looked comfortable and relaxed, away from the main villa and the barracks. She read some work from the New Poets while he watched the outline of tree branches against the sun from behind his eyelids, and slipped in and out of consciousness. Her hand worked through his hair, tugging lightly at his scalp, and he felt at peace again.

“You were nodding off again, my love,” whispered Aeliana.

Will looked back up at her.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” he confessed.

“My sleep has also been affected as of late,” she said. “What is keeping you up?”

Will rubbed his face.

“Nightmares.”

Aeliana put her hand on his collar and soothed him.

“The dead come to visit,” he said with a dry laugh.

“Thoughtless of them. What do they want?”

“I think they want me to see them,” Will replied.

“Were they not seen enough in this life?” Aeliana asked.

“Perhaps not.”

Will looked down at a beetle crawling over a rock on the ground. One of his dogs sniffed at it, nudging it with his nose.

“You see people,” Aeliana said. “Maybe that’s why they come to you.”

“I do not think they are actual phantoms,” Will said, grinning up at her. “Just the wandering imagination of an anxious man.”

“Anxiety embodies itself as a phantom. Perhaps it is your innermost thoughts that are haunting you, begging to be seen.”

Will sat up.

“I feel unable to move on from what happened with Rufina and Cassius.”

“I do not blame you. A man impaled himself on your doorstep.”

“It’s not the trauma,” Will explained. “It’s the lack of understanding. I did not know why he did what he did, or how any of this happened to him.”

“The answers lie on the lips of the dead,” Aeliana sighed. She remembered seeing Octavio speaking to Hannibal days ago. He seemed upset. But after some time, as she watched silently from the balcony, his face softened and his body became relaxed. Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder, and Octavio put his hand on Hannibal’s arm, touching the doctore’s new brand with his fingers. She approached Octavio afterward, asking him what had been said.

“I beg your forgiveness, Domina,” Octavio replied. She raised her eyebrow at his sudden usage of the ownership term. “I have come to realize that what I experienced was a gustatory hallucination.”

“What?” asked Aeliana.

“It is not uncommon for men my age,” he explained, “to be suddenly stricken with a familiar taste tied to some repressed memory. I deeply regret impugning Doctore Hannibal. He has been nothing but a boon to this villa.”

“Gustatory hallucination,” Aeliana mumbled to herself now, as she sat beside Will in the garden.

“What?” he asked, “did you just have one?”

“I’ve never had such a thing,” she replied, “Have you?”

“Oh yes,” answered Will. “Octavio used to make this boiled tripe dish that my father loved. I despised it! Couldn’t stand the taste! But my father insisted that I try it again from time to time, saying that ‘tastes change with age’ and that someday I might find myself loving it.”

“Did you?”

“No, and I stopped trying it after he was gone. But every now and then I suddenly taste it in my mouth, as clear as if I had taken a bite. And I remember my father sitting beside me, waiting to see my reaction. And Octavio chuckling at my facial expression.”

Aeliana smiled.

“What made you think of it?” he asked her.

“Just remembering something someone said to me earlier. It’s nothing.”

Will stood up, he looked back at the villa.

“You are still so restless,” she said.

“I think I might go into Rome,” Will replied. “I need to see to some things.”

“Shall I return to my father’s?”

“No,” Will said, “Stay here. Enjoy the quiet. I know how you like the rural outdoors.”

Aeliana was uneasy.

“Perhaps you should bring Hannibal with you, Will,” she said. “The city has grown more violent, and the villa is well-guarded.”

Will agreed and headed off to find him.

Aeliana stepped closer to the villa and saw Octavio sitting on a bench outside of his own quarters. He had pulled up his tunic past his loin cloth and was drawing on his upper thigh in charcoal.

* * *

 

When the two men approached the former domus of House Porcius, they noticed two guards stood at the entrance. Hannibal climbed out and held the door open for Will.

“This domus is empty, Magister,” the guard said politely. “All of the slaves have been evacuated, and we stand guard until the family of Senator Porcius can claim the property.”

“I have heard of the tragedy that occurred here,” Will said. “Cassius Porcius and his daughter, Rufina, were friends of mine. I have only come to pay my respects and say a prayer at their family shrine.”

The speaking guard looked at the other, who nodded.

“I can escort you to the house, please follow me.”

They walked up to the vacant building.

“Hannibal,” he said, “would you wait outside the entrance?”

Hannibal agreed and folded his hands in front of him as he stood watch beside the door. He peered in after Will and the guard as they disappeared into the darkness of the vacant building.

It took a moment for Will‘s eyes to grow adjusted to the dim light. The air smelled sickly sweet. The windows had been shuttered, letting very little light in. Will lifted a jug and sniffed it, his nose crinkling. It still contained a bit of spoiled wine.

“Only the most perfunctory cleaning has been done in preparation for Porcius’ family to send their own.”

Will looked at the couch in the atrium. A blanket lie rumpled over it and a single throw pillow was dented from a sleeping head having been placed upon it.

_Cassius Porcius killed his daughter,_ he thought,  _disposed of the body, and then… took a nap._ Will cringed at the way that sounded to himself.

_Perhaps he killed her in a drunken stupor before passing out,_ he suggested instead.  _Tacitus, the loyal vilicus sees the evidence and wants to protect his master. He disposes of the body with an unknown helper._

That sounded somewhat better. He made his way into Rufina’s room. The blankets were folded and place on the bed, and the statuette had been put up on a small table.

“That is what he used,” the guard said, pointing at the object. Then he pointed at a spot near a shrine against the wall. “That is where the blood pooled.”

Both the floor and the statue had been cleaned, but the place still held the stain of panic.

“Was there blood anywhere else in the room?” he asked.

“No, Magister,” the guard answered. “It was only in that spot. It is my understanding that the room has not been touched aside from what most needed to be cleaned.”

“Would you be so kind as to give me a moment by myself, to pray for the departed?”

The guard obliged, and Will lit some of the candles on the shrine. The light filled the room. Soon he was alone.

He peered out through the hall, at the atrium. The couch was in sight. Will shook his head, and then furrowed his brow. He felt odd in this house. It was as if he was reading it all in a book, a story that had no ending and it was up to the reader to infer from all of the details. He felt the urge to turn the page, and walked toward the statuette. He picked it up and looked at the corner of it that looked worn and chipped. He lifted the statue, then stopped, and rolled it around in his hand until it felt comfortable. With a grunt he thrust downward in a beating motion. It required force, and focused aim.

“I am Tacitus,” Will said. “I’ve just found out that my dominus impregnated his own daughter. I must get rid of her, for his sake.”

He gestured at the door to the hallway.

“Cassius Porcius has fallen asleep. I have ordered all the slaves to go their quarters. I come in here, pick up the statue…” He looked over the bed, where the clean sheets were rumpled a bit in his direction, toward the edge. His voice grew hushed when he realized something new. “Rufina Porcius is awake.”

He backed up to the spot the guard had pointed out to him.

“She sits on the edge of the bed. She gets up. Walks a sufficient distance this way, toward me.”

He scowled and continued to talk to himself, eyes darting around the room. He heard every object hum.

_Why is she walking toward me? She wouldn’t get out of bed for a slave. An older male slave in her quarters while she slept… she’d bark at him to leave._

The shrine was covered in a linen tablecloth. Will spotted a small circular indent in the fabric. He took the statuette and put it in the circle. It fit perfectly. A peculiar look came over his face and he suddenly dipped down and crawled under the shrine, hidden by the cloth. He lie underneath, and closed his eyes. He felt a strange patience come over him.  _Waiting._

He climbed out and went to sit on the bed. He looked to one side at a polished looking glass. His own face was reflected back at him. He thought of Rufina, recently undressed and preparing for sleep. He lie down, closed his eyes, and thought about the events of her last day. Going to Villa Capanna, expecting to buy a gladiator, being insulted by Will Capanna, slapping his face, leaving angrily. His face contorted, but then relaxed. He felt the desire to fall into sleep. Then his eyes snapped open.

_There’s someone in my room._

He sat up on the edge of her bed, his eyes focused on something in the middle-distance. He stared at the spot next to the shrine, looked at the statuette waiting to be picked up. He thought he could make out the shimmering silhouette of a figure. He squinted.

_He’s already out of his hiding place_.

Will stood.

“I don’t scream. I walk toward him.” He followed his own instructions. “In nothing but my sleeping tunic. To a strange intruder… no.”

The silhouette gained clarity.

“He doesn’t belong here,” then waves of foreign emotions came over him, “but I am pleased that he is.”

He could sense the appeal of the figure standing by the shrine. A man in the prime of his life, strong, handsome, but more than that. He felt excited, as though someone great had entered the room. Someone he admired. He walked further toward the spot, and put a hand out to touch.

“He stands perfectly still, graciously allowing me approach him.”

He broke from his reverie and walked toward the statue. He picked it up and examined it once more. Then he looked up. There was Rufina, standing in front of him. She had an amused smile on her face. Her tunic was loose on her body, her pale skin glowing in the candlelight. She reached out to him, placing a hand on his chest. She murmured to him words he couldn’t make out, but they were soft and seductive. Her face was filled with desire and absolute compliance.

Suddenly, he gripped the statuette in his hand and raised it above his head, bringing it downward and at an angle in forceful blows. His face twisted and he gnashed his teeth. He saw Rufina fall to her knees as he pummeled her skull.

“I am angry… hateful… but extremely controlled. There is no struggle, the candles on the shrine don’t even fall over. The blood is pooled in one spot. She came to me with a friendly approach, and I reward her with nearly instant death.”

He looked down at the statuette. It was spattered with blood and covered with bits of scalp and strands of ruby-red hair. Will stared at it and then blinked. The statue was clean again. He trembled. He had never felt like that before. Even with his temperamental nature, Will had never felt such contempt and disregard for human life. It made him feel sick, as though he had been temporarily possessed by a demonic force and then left shivering and weak. In that moment, it was as though the pretty, adoring young woman standing there was not a human life at all, but a disobedient beast that must be put down before it causes anymore trouble…

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts, and he looked to see Hannibal standing in the doorway. Will quickly put the statuette back on the shrine. Hannibal saw him carefully place the base of the statue inside of the circular indent, and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you all right, Dominus?” he asked. “You seem…”

“I’m fine,” Will nodded. He looked back at Hannibal and his glance became a gaze. He was very happy to see him there. He stood erect and noble in the doorway. The handsome face and inviting figure made him feel the urge to walk toward him. Then he stopped and swallowed.

Hannibal noticed the odd expression on his dominus’ face. His mouth opened a bit and he looked to one side. The shrine’s tablecloth had been lifted. He made a clicking sound at the back of his throat.

“Have you seen any ghosts?” he asked.

Will put his face in his hands, nodding again.

“In a matter of speaking.”

“What do they say?”

Will walked toward Hannibal, and as he did he felt his body grow warmer and warmer. It was simultaneously pleasant and ominous.

“That neither Cassius nor Tacitus killed Rufina. This man was outside of the household, somewhat a stranger, but admired by Rufina. He is the other man on horseback.”

“And what of Tacitus?” Hannibal asked.

“He must have helped. We should find his quarters.”

They both went to the slave quarters, to Tacitus’ room. It was so small that it only fit a bed, a narrow walkway beside it, and a small table at its side. The bed was a large wooden box topped with a thin cushion and a blanket. Will looked at the floor and noticed very faint scratch marks in front of the box. He lifted the table and set it on the bed, then pulled the box. It was very heavy, and made a deep scratching noise.

Hannibal stared at him for a moment in surprise. He was smiling when Will gestured at him to help. The young man stepped out of the narrow walkway and both he and Hannibal pushed the bed to the other side of the room, revealing an opening on the other side of the box. Will dropped down again.

“Dominus, allow me,” Hannibal said.

Will ignored him, and crawled under the bed. He pushed out bits of charcoal and candles.

“Prayer candles,” Hannibal murmured.

“Light one of those for me,” Will said, his voice muffled from under the bed.

Hannibal lit a candle and handed it to Will.

“What is this?” he asked.

Hannibal dropped down to take a look. A prayer circle had been drawn on the floor with charcoal, wax from the candles showed the spots where they had stood. Inside the circle was a symbol. A crude image of a sword breaking a link chain.

“I’ve seen this,” Hannibal answered. “That’s the symbol the guards found in Ren’s quarters. It stands for Spartacus and his rebellion.”

“Let the Roman guard know that Rufina was killed by a stranger, and that Tacitus has joined the rebellion.”

“Yes, Dominus,” Hannibal agreed, and left the room. He shot a last look at Will, who still lie under the bed, with his lit candle. The young man seemed to be praying.

* * *

 

The next day, Octavio received a sealed parchment from the courier, and read the exterior text.  _Senator Metellus for Will Capanna_ , it read. He worked his blade between the parchment and the wax and opened it up.

_The Honorable Senator Metellus wishes to invite Will Capanna to join him as the guest of honor at his home, celebrating the new auxiliary army against the rebel Spartacus. The Senator also suggests that he be accompanied by his lovely fiancée Aeliana Flos. Sparring for the entertainment of the guests and to bring honor to the soldiers that will be fighting the rebellion shall commence. It is requested that Magister Capanna lend us his honorable doctore, Hannibal, to lead the events. Please respond via the courier. Sincerely, vilicus to Metellus, Senator of Rome._

Octavio sighed.

“Wait here,” he told the courier. “This shouldn’t take long.”

When Will accepted the senator’s invitation and asked Octavio to respond in the affirmative to all of his requests, Octavio was noticeably surprised. Truth was, Will missed seeing Hannibal fight, and was willing to use any excuse to do so.

Unfortunately for him, when the night of the party came he was virtually abducted by Metellus and brought into his cubiculum to meet two dry-humored men by the name of Cossinius and Furius. Aeliana and Hannibal were escorted into the atrium and  _triclinium_  with the promise that he would join them soon.

The atrium was filled with guests and tables of food and slaves pouring wine without hesitation. There was very little to suggest a military connection, aside from a few decorated men getting drunk and eating too much like everyone else. In the middle of the room, the reflecting pool had been drained and filled instead with sand for the entertainment.

Hannibal looked around the room and saw a red-haired woman standing by herself. He sensed a profound sadness within her.

“Who is that noble lady?” he asked Aeliana.

“That is Lucretia Batiatus, wife of the late Quintus Batiatus,” Aeliana’s face was somber. “Her husband and unborn child were murdered during the rebellion in Capua. A rebel slave struck her directly in the womb.”

“I have heard her name,” Hannibal said. He looked interested.

“Madame Flos,” he continued, “Would you mind if I paid her my respects? They say she is the mouthpiece of the gods, and will give blessing if one requests.”

“Not at all,” Aeliana said.

Hannibal approached Lucretia, who was startled to see the armor-clad gentleman in front of her. He bowed, and introduced himself as the doctore for House Capanna. She extended her hand for a kiss, and he granted it.

“I have heard of your struggles, Madame Batiatus, and I want to extend my condolences,” he told her.

“Thank you,” Lucretia replied, “Losing both a husband and a child at once tries the faith. But I must believe that the gods have a purpose.”

Hannibal nodded, and stood next to her while he watched the communication styles and migration patterns of the guests. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “The gods always have a purpose, and it is theirs to dwell on. The trial for us, is to determine what our purpose must be.”

Aeliana watched them chat, noticing that he was standing quite close to Lucretia, and that she didn’t seem to mind. She found it odd.

It was true that Lucretia enjoyed his closeness; his strength and poise as he stood next to her. It reminded her of when she was in the arms of another gladiator, a slave her late husband owned, who she had an affair with not long ago. The difference was that this time the man who leaned over her, powerful and intense, belonged to someone else. She knew that when he whispered in her ear with warm, comforting breath, and pressed his body slightly against her, that it was his own desire to do so, not her command.

“Sometimes I wake in the early morning, and feel a tiny kicking inside of me,” Lucretia said, her eyes becoming wet. She looked up at Hannibal with sudden surprise. It was a look Hannibal was very accustomed to when speaking to people. A realization that they had revealed much more than they intended, and were now questioning themselves as to why they had momentarily lost control over their tongues. It was followed after by a glint of suspicion. And he smiled a bit when he realized that she recognized something else in him.

Quintus Batiatus was a small man; not athletic, not physically strong. But his words and skillful maneuverings could bring down senators. His eyes were always moving, darting as he thought, his ears always turned to listen. He often brought words out of people that they had no logical reason to utter. This Hannibal, who she had only just met, seemed a strange amalgamation of both of her past lovers.

“Men who have lost arms or legs in battle can still feel the limbs tingling,” he said. “Your child was a part of your body, growing inside of you and sharing your nourishment and your illnesses. To have such a part of you taken so forcibly, before the proper time, must feel as though you are constantly reaching out with a hand that isn’t there.”

She placed her hand on his sturdy and unmoving arm. She felt her heart race faster. The weaseling men who know dwelt in her life, and attempted to control her and steal her dignity were no match for this gladiator. She looked into his eyes and longed to cling to him.

Hannibal sensed this in her. His eyes narrowed and he straightened his back, making himself stand tall and allowing her to keep her hand on his arm. He could practically smell her hopelessness, and it was a cloying perfume. Lucretia had been disempowered by her husband’s death and only gained influence through the very tenuous belief that she had been blessed by the gods. The power of religion moved national leaders like pawns on a vast chess board, and it benefited Lucretia, but on the scale that Hannibal operated, it was useless. He did not play chess. He was a gladiator. He played people. This person standing next to him was exquisitely malleable. It almost seemed a waste that he didn’t need her.

“Do you trust the gods?” he asked “I know that the people say you are chosen, but do you have faith yourself?”

“I trust that there is a world beyond that of men,” she responded, “whether or not the inhabitants of that world hold us in their thoughts is unknown to me. Somehow I think there is a reason that I was kept tied to mortality while my husband walked onward without me. What that reason is, I cannot say.”

“You were not meant to join him just yet, that much is true. Perhaps he is preparing a place for you, to live in the afterlife, as husband and wife.”

Lucretia smiled and a tear ran down her cheek.

A high feminine laugh rang out from the large atrium. The sound of it struck against Hannibal’s ears and he turned suddenly, almost forgetting himself in front of Lucretia. Male laughter responded to it, like dogs salivating at the sound of offal hitting the dirt outside of a butcher shop. They didn’t seem to hear what he heard: a laugh of forced jubilation, masking a deep cynicism. He scanned the room for its source and saw amongst a crowd of men only the top of finely piled blonde hair. He felt Lucretia suddenly become tense, and her hand on his arm tightened a bit, as if pulling his attention back to her. Hannibal looked back and gave her a compassionate expression. He ignored the lilting chatter and giggling despite his curiosity.

“Those pieces of us, torn from our bodies, our hearts and wombs,” he whispered, “exist beyond our plane. That is why we still feel them with us. They call to us, waiting for us where we will finally exist in completion.”

Lucretia tried to hold back a sob. Her breasts ached for the child who belonged at them, her arms shook for want of her husband’s embrace. Both of them waiting for her, in an ethereal villa beyond her reach. As he spoke, the less physical desire she felt for him and the more she wanted to enter such a reality.

Aeliana continued to watch Hannibal and Lucretia as they spoke. Hannibal was increasingly close to her. His mouth moved almost without perception as he whispered in her ear. She felt goose bumps when she saw Lucretia begin to cry. What on earth was he saying to her? How was it that a wealthy wife of a lanista would allow a slave such familiarity of proximity? Suddenly, Lucretia leaned forward and kissed Hannibal on the cheek.

“Is this him?” Ilithyia’s voice called out. Aeliana turned to see a heavily pregnant young blonde woman walk in her direction. “Is this the cannibal gladiator?”

“Madame Glaber,” Aeliana said in greeting. “I am Aeliana Flos, soon to be wife of Will Capanna, who owns Hannibal. Yes, that is him, standing with Lucretia Batiatus.”

Ilithyia gasped and looked around with a wide, pleased smile.

“What a monstrous oddity to have in one’s possession!” she exclaimed. “I have watched him many times in the arena, but I must say standing in the same room as him is quite an unexpected pleasure.”

“Hannibal has retired from the gladiatorial games,” Aeliana explained. “He is now doctore at Will’s estate.”

“Oh, how disappointing,” Ilithyia said. “Forgive me, but I will miss his… showmanship.”

Hannibal looked at Ilithyia and bowed from across the room.

“I would very much like to meet him,” she said.

Aeliana called to Hannibal, and he came. Lucretia stayed where she was, holding her abdomen and watching Ilithyia. Hannibal also noticed Ilithyia’s swollen belly, but looked up at the woman’s face quickly.

“Hannibal, this is Ilithyia Glaber, wife of  _Praetor_  Claudius Glaber.”

“At your service, Madame,” he said, and kissed her hand. She gushed.

“A gentleman cannibal!” Ilithyia said to the people next to her, who chuckled. “How funny! Aeliana, dear, your future husband must be quite tenacious to secure such an exotic creature.”

Hannibal bristled at being spoken of as though he wasn’t there, but he closed his eyes and bowed his head politely. Metellus approached and kissed Ilithyia’s hand as well.

“Is he our entertainment this evening?” Ilithyia asked him.

“Yes,” Metellus answered, “local lanistas have brought gladiators to spar with him here.”

“Marvelous!” she said. She reached out and began to run her hands over Hannibal’s chest, arms, and belly. He stood perfectly still. “What a brilliant physique. And he is not shorn, how like an animal!”

“It is not the custom of my people to shave below the face,” Hannibal said.

“Keeping to your barbaric customs,” she said, grinning wildly. She looked at Aeliana. “I wonder what other barbarisms he still maintains.”

Ilithyia broke out into a fit of giggles, letting her fingers drag down Hannibal’s treasure trail. Aeliana cleared her throat.

“Your fiancé is occupied in my cubiculum,” Metellus said to her. “He has agreed that we may begin the entertainment without him.”

Hannibal looked at Aeliana, who nodded. He seemed uneasy but bowed and walked toward the filled pond. Metellus gestured and another gladiator met Hannibal there. They began to spar on the senator’s command.

Hannibal drew out the fight for the crowd’s sake, but eventually got the better of his opponent, who signaled his surrender to Metellus. He was sent out and another jumped in, barely waiting to be told. Ilithyia frowned. When this opponent found himself knocked from his feet, he kicked about in the sand while Hannibal held him in place with his foot.

“Ugh,” Senator Metellus sighed at the gladiator’s owner, “Brutus, he isn’t going anywhere, command him to give signal.”

Brutus called out that the gladiator obey.

“I imagined something more interesting than this,” Ilithyia said loudly.

“What were you imagining?” Metellus asked.

“Well,” she said, gesturing at Hannibal, “you have commissioned such an infamous fighter to entertain your guests tonight, and so far we’ve seen only Hannibal and no cannibal.”

“You would have him finish someone off and eat him in the senator’s atrium… at a party?” Aeliana asked.

“Oh, boo!” Ilithyia responded to her. “What is the point of owning such a beast if you will never allow him out of his cage?”

“It’s hardly appropriate,” Aeliana muttered. Ilithyia rolled her eyes.

“Hannibal!” Metellus called. “You have my permission to devour this one.”

Ilithyia clapped excitedly. Brutus gasped.

“Oh calm yourself, Brutus, I’ll pay for this one. He wasn’t any good anyway.”

Hannibal looked at the man with surprise.

“Noble Senator,” Hannibal said cautiously, “I would be happy to oblige for the pleasure of you and your guests, if not that I worry on the wishes of my dominus in this matter. He is not present at the moment.”

Metellus waved his hand.

“Your dominus has granted you to me for the evening, I’m sure he is well aware of what performance you are most known for.”

Hannibal looked at Aeliana. She said nothing.

The gladiator pinned to the sand under Hannibal’s foot whimpered and began to squirm, trying desperately to reach his fallen sword or pull the weight off of him. Hannibal looked down at him, gazed into his eyes, and then shrugged.

The fallen gladiator shrieked when Hannibal’s sword fell upon him, but the sound was cut short when his head was severed and rolled over in the sand. Hannibal bent down and cut away a slab of his opponent’s belly, and lifted it up for the guests to see before lowering it into his mouth and consuming it in only a few bites.

“Oh gods,” Ilithyia cried out, “that is foul!”

She clapped some more and laughed.

Hannibal straightened up, blood staining his face. He locked eyes with Aeliana, and she didn’t look away until he exited the pond to go wash himself.

Hannibal leaned over the basin, washing his hands and chest, and splashed water onto his face. The guests outside of the room were chattering about his performance. He paused for a moment, peering to one side, then stood up and turned around. Ilithyia had slipped into the room without anyone outside noticing.

“That was quite a sight,” she said. “I am glad you had the chance to achieve your full potential.”

He bowed to her.

“My full potential,” he repeated dryly. “I did not want to go beyond the limits of the audience.”

She walked toward him slowly, hips swaying.

“People yearn to have their limits pushed,” she cooed.

“I see you are heavily laden. I do hope I didn’t cause you stress,” he added. “It would be a shame if, in your state, there should be unpleasant effects.”

She laughed and put a hand to her belly. To the imperceptive, she appeared amused and flirtatious. But her broad smile strained the muscles of her face. Her teeth were gritted a bit, eyes slightly glazed over. Beneath her debutante pretense, a desperate loneliness lurked.

“In my state,” she said, “I still wish to enjoy living my life as I please. I assure you, I am fine.”

“I am glad to have pleased you, Madame,” he replied. “It is true that you should enjoy this time that you have before you must become a mother.”

Ilithyia’s face dropped.

“Apologies, Madame,” he said, bowing again. “Naturally you will be a most happy mother, as you are a happy wife. I am sure you will enjoy every minute with your child. And he will enjoy every minute, of every day, with such a lovely mother.”

Tears began to form in Ilithyia’s eyes. Hannibal stood quietly. Then Ilithyia laughed again, wiping her eyes.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I look forward to such abundant happiness.”

“In my culture,” he continued, “one of nomadic barbarism, of course… women often didn’t become mothers, and would instead join the men in fighting battles and claiming new land.”

Ilithyia’s eyes widened.

“The women? How unheard of!”

“Yes, they were shield-maidens, brave women who stood with their brothers on the battlefield.”

Ilithyia came closer to him, and he approached her as well.

“They rode horses, engaged in sport, and did not bear children until they were nearing the end of their fruitfulness… if ever at all. Some didn’t feel interested in such pursuits, and chose instead to live out their lives in brash form, seeking only their own fulfillment, until the day they could be buried in a warrior’s grave.”

Ilithyia swallowed.

“Did the men hate them for it?”

“Not at all,” Hannibal replied. He was near enough to smell the perfume in her hair. “They were well-loved. It is not believed, among the Gautoi and Suiones, that women are confined to the selfless and honorable roles of wife and mother.”

“Scandalous,” she whispered, looking over his face.

“We are not the refined, dignified, and structured empire that Rome is. Perhaps were we not such savages…”

Ilithyia grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him hard on the mouth. He pushed back into her, and clutched at her hips, running his hand over her backside and lifting up her skirt. She tilted her head back as he began to kiss her all over her long pale neck.

“Oh gods,” she sighed, “take me… rut me like a savage…”

Hannibal lifted one of her legs and pulled it over his hip. She curled it around him eagerly. Her pregnant stomach pressed up against him, so he lifted her up onto the counter that held the basin and sat her with her legs spread open. He dropped down to his knees and began kissing her thighs as he pulled away the layers of her skirt. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head closer to her vulva. He buried his lips between her open legs, kissing and licking her while she held his head in place.

“Fucking devour me,” she giggled, and he pushed his tongue deeper inside of her. Then he began to finger her while he lapped and flicked his tongue over her clitoris. She moaned and he grunted softly in reply, wetting her and opening her up.

“Hannibal,” she whispered, “what I wouldn’t give to run away with you right now, nothing to tie me here, no burdens to bear.”

Hannibal stood up and kissed her. She tasted her own pussy on his lips.

“What of your husband, your child?”

“I hate them both equally,” she said with a sad smile. Her hand reached down to free his cock from his clothing.

He kissed her again and pushed himself inside of her. She gasped, mouth open wide, eyebrows knit, staring into his eyes. He moved in and out, looking back at her with intent.

“I wish they were both dead,” she said, shuddering with the rhythm of his thrusts. She grasped his face in her hands. “Does that make me wicked?”

“No,” he said with conviction. “It only means you wish to be the one to live.”

Ilithyia moaned and threw her head back. He fucked her hard, running his thumb over clitoris and watching her as she climbed higher and higher…

 

“I beg your forgiveness, love, “Will told Aeliana after he’d left the cubiculum. “If I had known I would be spending so much time listening to details about money and war paraphernalia, I would have told Octavio to write the most succinct and careless refusal to an invitation he could bear to come up with.”

“What did they want?” Aeliana asked.

“In addition to my money?” Will replied. “They suggested I speak with Marcus Licinius Crassus, and see if we can pool our efforts.”

“You may actually like Crassus,” Aeliana said, raising her eyebrows as she spoke. “He isn’t an entirely foolish individual. Quite the philosopher actually.”

“Really?”

Aeliana nodded.

“My father has some respect for him. Crassus mostly keeps to himself, though.”

Will looked thoughtful, then glanced around the room.

“Where is Hannibal?” he asked.

“In the washroom, cleaning himself,” Aeliana answered. “He ate someone tonight.”

Will looked at her with astonishment.

“You joke.”

“No,” she replied, “Metellus commanded it.”

“Does he think he has the right?”

“Apparently.”

“I am sorry,” said Will, shaking his head. “Even a party with these people…”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said, “I only fear that having Hannibal causes people to make demands of us that we would rather avoid.”

“I won’t be lending him out again,” Will promised. “He deserves better than this treatment.”

 

“I trust you won’t be telling anyone of this,” Ilithyia said, leaning back on her hands and breathing heavily.

“I will be discreet, Madame,” Hannibal replied. He pulled her skirt back into place and helped her down from the counter.

“Good,” she said with a smile. She pecked him on the cheek and walked out, straightening her hair on the way.

Hannibal splashed water on himself again and dabbed himself dry with a cloth. Then he re-joined the party outside. He saw Will standing with Aeliana, and then looked around again for Lucretia. She was sitting alone in a corner. Her hands were folded in her lap. Hannibal approached her and she looked up at him and smiled.

“Your reputation holds true,” she said, and gestured next to herself on the bench. He sat, and returned her smile.

“I do what is demanded of me.”

“Don’t we all?” said Lucretia.

“Begging your pardon, Madame,” Hannibal said, “but I could not help but notice that you grow tense when in the presence of Ilithyia Glaber.”

Lucretia sighed and shook her head, faint smile still on her lips.

“We have a storied past.”

“Oh, is that the cause?” he said. “I thought it may be…”

She looked at him.

“Apologies, Madame, I speak out of turn.”

“No,” she urged him, placing a hand on his, “please say what you are thinking.”

“I thought it may be due to her being with child, when yours is lost to you. And due to her not really wanting that child, when you would cherish such a gift.”

“How did you know that Ilithyia does not want her child?”

“She does not hide the fact,” he answered. “She told me herself only moments ago.”

Lucretia looked angry.

“She is a fool.”

“I cannot disagree,” said Hannibal. He looked down at Lucretia’s hands, which were now tracing over her belly scar through her clothes.

“Does it still give you pain?”

“No, not pain,” she replied. “Only a dull ache.”

“Dull aches can sometimes be worse than sharp pains.”

Lucretia nodded.

“To think such a small incision could pluck my baby from this world.”

“A slightly wider incision can bring a baby into it,” Hannibal murmured.

“How do you mean?”

“There is a procedure,  _ab utero caeso_ ,” he explained. “In which a physician may remove a living infant from a mother’s womb, if it is unable to pass through the natural canal. The life of both the mother and child can be saved.”

“Miraculous.”

“Truly. And rather a simple procedure. I recommend you read on it, if such a thing interests you.”

Aeliana was watching Hannibal again, out of the corner of her eye. Will noticed him sitting there and walked toward him. Hannibal stood up and bowed to Lucretia.

“It was a pleasure and an honor speaking to you, Madame. I hope you may find yourself as a complete person, as we all strive to be.”

He kissed her hand.

“I heard of how the evening progressed,” Will said as he approached. “I am sorry. I did not know that Metellus would demand such a thing from you.”

“It is nothing you must be sorry about,” said Hannibal.

“I think we should return home,” Aeliana advised.

“This is the best suggestion I have heard all evening,” Will agreed.

* * *

 

“I feel I must once again apologize to you,” Will said, after both he and Hannibal had returned to the villa. Will had invited him into his bedroom. He had removed his lacerna, and Hannibal was beginning to advance on him a bit.

“I should not have left you and Aeliana alone,” he said.

“Think of it no more, Dominus,” Hannibal replied.

He put his hand at the side Will’s neck and kissed the other side, biting him a bit. Will sighed, closed his eyes, and chewed his lower lip.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured. “Anything you like.”

“I have something I made for you, Dominus,” Hannibal said in a sly tone. Will had come to recognize when Hannibal’s voice grew deep and unctuous like this. It made him quiver, simultaneously aroused and terrified.

“Show me,” he said.

“First, I’ll need you to undress.”

Will didn’t have the chance to respond before Hannibal had stripped away his tunic.

“Come along,” Hannibal said. He put his hand on the back of Will’s neck and pushed him forward. He walked behind him, also gripping Will by the arm as he drove him out into the hall.

“No,” Will said, looking around for other slaves. The hallway was empty.

“It’s in the triclinium.”

Due to Will’s distaste for large company, the triclinium of House Capanna had not been used since Servius had passed. Will tried to pull away, not happy to be naked in the open like this, but Hannibal hustled him onward. His fingers wrapped around to the front of his throat and he tightened his grip on his arm, forcing Will to lean back against him as they moved quickly into the nearly empty room. All that remained was the reclined dining couches covered in silk cushions surrounding a very low table, and the thing that Hannibal had built for him, which stood amidst the couches almost like a centerpiece.

He had erected a wooden pole, with two L-shaped blocks jutting out of it like hooks. One was near the top of the pole, and the other midway down. On the floor lie a wooden beam and two piles of rope.

Hannibal grinned and pushed Will down on his knees in front of the dining couch. He lifted both of Will’s arms up and placed them, spread wide open behind him on the table, his shoulder-blades pulled tight. He brought the wooden beam to the table and placed it along his arms. He picked up both ropes and began lashing each arm to the wooden beam, forcing him to remain spread. Will was clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to keep from trembling already. He could sense that his fear made Hannibal more excited, but he still felt humiliated by his own emotional bareness while Hannibal always maintained a certain domineering and foreboding tranquility. In addition, even now he felt ashamed by his own perversity.

After his arms were secure, Hannibal tied the ropes off and let them dangle to the floor. Will sat on his ankles, knees spread apart, and gazed up at his gladiator. He was already feeling that strange sober-drunkenness sweep over him. It was weakening his will and softening his facial expression. All he could do was watch the man work and beg him with his eyes to do whatever he wanted with him.

Hannibal looked down at him with raised eyebrows. He looked like a man with his favorite pet. He ran his fingers through Will’s hair and stroked his face. Then he reached into his loin cloth and freed his cock. He gripped the back of Will’s head by the hair, and gently held him in position while he squeezed his face and forced his mouth open. He pushed his cock into his mouth, continuing to hold his hair, but putting his other hand around his throat, stroking his jaw line and jugular while he slowly thrust into him.

Will’s eyes were wide. He wrapped his mouth around the man and looked up at him.

“Suck,” Hannibal commanded, and Will did. His eyes closed, and Hannibal took his head in both hands and began to thrust harder.

Will breathed through his nose, a ragged and anxious sound. He couldn’t move forward or backward, couldn’t use his hands or tilt his head. He could only kneel before Hannibal and open his mouth wider, sucking desperately. But there was still a subconscious resistance, and he began to cough.

Hannibal pulled out of him, leaving his wet mouth still agape. Will gasped. He hung his head in shame over the way he groveled before Hannibal on his knees, losing any ounce of strength or self-respect he usually had. He had only watched while all delusions of control were eliminated when his arms were immobilized. He kept asking himself why, why would he allow him to do this, but still he remained in the position that Hannibal placed him.

Hannibal lifted the wooden beam so that Will was forced to stand up.

“What…” Will stammered. “What are you going to do?”

“I am going to crucify you, as a rebel slave might be crucified.”

A sound emitted from Will’s throat, like a croaking squeak, and he quickly cleared his throat, embarrassed for himself. The noises that the young dominus made caused Hannibal’s trademark snarl to appear on his lips. Seeing it only made Will feel more frightened of what would come next. Hannibal kept lifting up on the beam as he pushed Will toward the pole. His feet were barely able to keep on the ground as he reluctantly moved forward. Hannibal threw the loose ends of the rope over the wooden beams in the ceiling, and then hoisted Will up. His legs hung loose in the air, kicking a bit as Hannibal maneuvered his arm splint into place and lowered it down inside of the L-hook. The lower hook poked into his tailbone, and Will pushed away from the pole with his feet to avoid it.

Then Hannibal took one of Will’s ankles and lifted it so that his knee bent, and lashed his foot to the pole. Will began to hyperventilate as Hannibal took his other foot and bound it to the pole as well. He lifted himself by his arms, so that the hook dragged against his bottom, poking into his crack. He lowered himself, and once again it jutted against his tailbone uncomfortably. He tried lifting himself up by his ankles, but the position Hannibal had tied them made it impossible to put weight on them without pain.

“You will have to take a seat,” Hannibal sneered, “if you want relief for your arms and back.”

Will whimpered and twisted himself to look at the hook once more. It was a peg with a rounded top, and a thicker base.

“I can’t…” he replied in a pathetic whisper. Hannibal’s eyes glowed.

“Of course you can,” he replied without any compassion in his voice. The shuddering breathing, the hiccupping moans, every sound that Will made was having a dire effect on him as well. He leaned forward and lay his forehead on Will’s chest. He ran his hand down his torso and enjoyed the sensation of his lithe body trembling, his belly lurching from fear of his touch. He took Will’s chin in his hand and kissed him on the lips. Will craned his neck forward, kissing him back almost in an attempt to bargain for mercy.

“And you will, eventually,” Hannibal said. Then he turned, and walked out of the room.

“Hannibal!” Will called out after him, trying not to shout too loudly. “Please, don’t leave me like this!”

Hannibal was already gone, and Will was too afraid of alerting the house slaves to call for him anymore. He was mortified at the thought of one of them walking in and seeing him hanging there, naked, bound, and fully erect, with a wooden object poking into his ass.

“Please…” Will cried to himself, knowing that no one could hear him. He questioned himself, wondered why he was submitting again and again to this pain and degradation. It was becoming a gruesome addiction. He knew that if Hannibal came back, he could not truly command him to bring him down. He could only wait and let him take whatever he wanted from him. He wasn’t even sure that a strong command would have an effect on him at this point.

Hannibal walked out toward the barracks and retrieved his whip. He fastened it to his waistband and looked around. He noticed a bit of parchment sitting on the table next to the forge. It was drawn on with charcoal. It showed a T being transformed into the symbol Hannibal bore for House Cappana. His eyes narrowed.

“I have decided to take a cue from you,” Octavio’s voice came from the doorway to the barracks.

Hannibal turned to greet him.

“You have grown tired of your old master’s mark as well?” Hannibal said.

“I have hated it for many years. I hope that our dominus will change mine as he has changed yours.”

Octavio thought he saw Hannibal bristle.

“You do not think it wise?” he asked.

“I wouldn‘t say that,” Hannibal said, putting the parchment down. “In fact, I think it is a reasonable request. One he would surely grant you.”

“I shall ask him now, if he is available to speak to me.”

Hannibal quickly walked past him toward the doorway.

“I’m afraid he has asked to be left alone for today. Perhaps tomorrow, Octavio?”

“Of course,” Octavio answered.

Hannibal returned to the villa, and made his way back to the triclinium. He entered quietly, observing Will before he noticed the doctore had entered. Hannibal smiled when he saw that Will, arms aching from holding himself up, had lowered himself down onto the L hook. He was squirming and weeping softly, trying to keep the peg from entering him too deeply. Arms trembling, he was forced to relax a bit more, lowering himself further onto it. He moaned, lifting his head and staring at the ceiling. His back was arched beautifully and his body was covered in sweat. Hannibal moved closer and Will’s head shot to the side, looking in his direction with fear. Relief swept over him when he saw who it was coming toward him.

“Hannibal,” Will said in a most pitiable voice, “Please… it’s too much.”

He approached him and ran his hands all over his clammy skin. Will groaned and pleaded with him, trying again to lift up off of the peg, but finding only weakness in his tired arms.

“Imagine being left up here for hours, days,” Hannibal said, moving his hands wherever he pleased.

“Gods,” Will cried. “I can’t bear this any longer.”

Hannibal place his hand on Will’s thigh. His knees were pressed together tightly, thighs almost parallel to the ground. He moved his hand upward, trying to push between Will’s legs.

“Open up for me,” he commanded.

Will shook his head and bit his lip.

“It hurts.”

“I know,” Hannibal replied. His face was placid. His hands slid further between Will’s legs, prying them apart.

Will obeyed, slowly opening his thighs. He whimpered as he settled further onto the peg. Hannibal could now see it entering him. He reached down and began to stroke him, handling his testicles and running his hands over his cock.

“Ohhh…” Will groaned.

“It hurts less when I am touching you, though, doesn’t it?”

A broken bleat escaped from Will’s mouth. He leaned his head back against the wooden beam.

“Slide all the way into place,” Hannibal instructed.

Will began to cry softly once more.

Hannibal let go of him and stepped back. Will watched him and then hyperventilated again when he saw Hannibal removing his whip from his waistband. He couldn’t even bring himself to beg him not to. Every thought that went through his mind was instantly dissolved in subjugated fear.

Hannibal began to strike him, with light, stinging lashes on his thighs. They left tiny pink strands on his skin. Will seemed to forget how to speak, and only cried out in moans and whimpers.

“Sit down,” Hannibal barked.

Will spread his legs further open and brought himself fully onto the base of the peg. It pushed hard inside of him, filling him up completely. He hung his head and shuddered violently.

Hannibal pressed up against him and began to stroke him again.

“Thank me for making this easier for you,” his words struck Will, and he burst into gasping moans. “Thank me.”

“Thank you…” Will was finally able to squeak. “Thank you for…” His eyes began to roll back into his head. The high was setting in.

Will stepped back and again began to lash him, this time across his belly and chest. Will screamed and wriggled in his secured position. The pain woke him up.

“Please, please!” he cried.

Hannibal returned his soft, groping touch.

“Ohhh…” Will stared into Hannibal’s eyes. “Thank you for touching me. Thank you for making this easier for me.”

Hannibal’s feral snarl appeared and Will felt the addictive sensation sweep over him in waves. The throbbing pain was melting into him. He felt a tugging sensation and realized he was being hoisted up again, the splint for his arms lifting upward and pulling him off of the peg. Hannibal ducked down and removed the ligaments from his ankles. Will fumbled against the pole with his feet, trying to push away from it until Hannibal lowered him down to his knees on the floor. He took out his knife and cut the beam away from his arms so that they dropped to the floor as well.

Though his arms were sore and weak, he reached out for Hannibal, putting a hand on one of his hips. Hannibal began to massage his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Will whispered. He put his other hand on Hannibal’s cock and began to take it into his mouth. He felt such a strong urge to show him gratitude now, to grovel once more without holding back. To become like his slave. Hannibal took hold of his head now, and Will put his hands on the floor, letting the man drive himself into his mouth. In that moment, he could not even remember his name. He couldn’t remember whose house he was in or what he was to anyone else except to Hannibal. And right now, he was merely the source of his pleasure. He sucked and moved his tongue, gazing up at that beautifully animalistic snarl. His teeth were bared, his eyes fiery. When Hannibal burst into his mouth, Will sucked harder and took it all down his throat. Hannibal pulled away and held Will’s face up. He was breathing heavily, mouth wet, eyes blurring.

“Thank you,” Will said again. “Thank you.”

Hannibal bent down and scooped him up into his arms, and carried him back into his room. He lay him on his bed, head on the soft silken pillows. He brought him wine once more, trickling it into his mouth, soothing him with soft caresses, kissing his face. He watched him slip away into his masochist reverie. As beautiful as Hannibal always thought Will to be, it was these moments that he found him the most stunning. He held him and whispered to him in his own native language until he fell asleep. Then he returned to his own quarters.

* * *

 

Again Will woke in his chambers with a terrifying start. He looked around, examining every inch of his room before he relaxed into his pillows and began to fall asleep again. Then he heard a sound. A tiny whisper, which seemed to be coming from the foot of his bed. He was too afraid to open his eyes, but he listened.

He couldn’t make out most of it except, “Why would he… how do you know this… where were they sent?”

Will was holding so very still that his muscles began to ache.

“After all these years… I don’t understand…”

The whisper was growing a bit louder, and it was wracked with pain and despair.

“In the name of Spartacus…”

He heard the phrase clearly amidst the indiscernible whispers. It caused him to twitch involuntarily, and the whispering suddenly stopped. He could hear his blood rushing in his eardrums.

_Wake up_ , he prayed,  _Please, gods, let me wake now._

There was no end to the silence, and he feared that he was already awake, and the whispers were real. He began to force his eyes open, fighting his anxious instincts. He looked upward as he blinked and his sight came into focus.

The yellow, sunken eyes stared down on him.

Will tried to scream, but he felt the cold knife enter his belly again. Every fraction of its blade tore him wider and filled his gut with burning pain. He could only release a sharp grunt and a shudder.

“Where are they?” Ren asked. The same question that he still had no answer to.

“Fredo!” Will groaned, straining back from the blade.

“Where have you taken my children, Fredo?” he asked.

“I am not Fredo!”

Will’s voice was but a croak.

“WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?” Ren screamed in his face, straddling him and spitting down upon him.

“I’ll find them!” Will screamed, sitting up, and then released a loud sound of relief when he found himself in a lit room again. He dressed quickly and ran out into the barracks.

“Hannibal!” he called.

The doctore rushed to greet him.

“Dominus?”

“We must find a way to convince Fredo to tell us where Ren’s children are,” he said.

“Dominus, you do not look well, should I fetch a physician?”

“No, no,” Will waved the suggestion away. “My sleep has been forfeit because of this issue. I must find Jonah and Abigail if I ever wish to close my eyes without fear again.”

“You have claim to his lands,” Hannibal reminded him, “but I knew Fredo to keep many things off of the books, including property removed from his main villa.”

“Threatening him is useless,” Will said. “I will have to appeal to his better nature.”

Hannibal shot him an incredulous look.

“Is there no way you can think of for me to get him to speak?”

“It is very difficult to prompt a man to use his tongue,” Hannibal told him. “After one has ripped it from his mouth.”

Will thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “I will have to give it back to him!”

Hannibal smiled at the young man tenderly.

“Noble Dominus,” he said, “you are a man who seizes immeasurable goals. If you believed you had the power of healing growth, you would not be persuaded otherwise.”

“Ah, you mock me,” Will pointed at him with a scolding finger, but he had a smile on his lips.

“Not at all,” Hannibal said. “Trust me when I say that those are words of great admiration, on my part.”

Will beamed with satisfaction and rushed back to the villa.

“Octavio!” he called, and the man responded quickly. “Please let the stable-master know I need to speak to him about some items, and I may have to ask you to run to the smithy.”

“Certainly, Dominus,” replied Octavio.

Hannibal leaned against the fence alongside the barracks as his men took a break for lunch. He was peeling an apple with his curved blade. He saw Octavio walking out toward him and smiled warmly as he grabbed another apple from the barrel and tossed it to him.

Octavio caught it and returned the expression.

“Dominus is creating a contraption of some sort in his cubiculum,” he said between munches.

“What sort of contraption?” Hannibal asked.

“He has asked the stable-master about building a clamping mechanism, as well as asking for a type of thick flexible leather, and a laminating agent. He is assembling what he has at his desk, and sending me to the city to fetch more items.”

Hannibal furrowed his brow, letting the long single peel fall to the ground.

“I understand he is meaning to encourage words from Fredo Ligare,” Octavio murmured.

“Yes.”

Octavio laughed and said, “Perhaps it is some kind of horrific torture device.”

Hannibal thought for a moment and then looked back up at the villa with wonder in his eyes. Then he chuckled to himself and took a bite of his apple.

“No,” he replied, “I do not think that is his design.”

* * *

 

Days had passed before Aeliana chose to call on Will. It was unusual for him to send for her, even when he wanted to see her, and she was beginning to feel guilty for ignoring him. She was surprised to find, upon entering the villa that Will was too preoccupied to have been upset at her absence. When Octavio told her that he was working on a “project” she assumed it was a letter to another academic much like her father. As he escorted her to the cubiculum, she saw him hunkered over his desk, with bits of leather and metal and pots of glue-like substance strewn out before him. He looked up at her with a very happy smile.

“I haven’t used these tools since I was very young,” he said. “I don’t know why I abandoned tinkering. It is the most satisfying thing in the world.”

“What in mundus are you making?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise!” he said, almost giddy. “You’ll recognize it when it’s done.”

Then he stopped and looked up at her.

“Oh, forgive me.” He came toward her and gave her a kiss. “I really am very happy to see you.”

He looked back at his “project” with some concern.

“I suppose I can leave it for now. It’s time for a break.”

The two walked out into the atrium and he practically collapsed on the lounge.

“Aah,” he moaned, “I didn’t realize how stiff I was until I rested.”

Aeliana sat beside him and began to massage his back, neck, and shoulders. He sighed contentedly.

“Oh, I love you,” he muttered into the pillow.

“I really must speak to you about something, Will,” Aeliana said.

He rolled over.

“Anything.”

She looked pained, and chose her words carefully.

“I am concerned,” she said, “about Hannibal.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have been watching him lately,” she said. “Whenever he is at functions, around other people, you see.”

He nodded.

“He is always talking to somebody. He strays away and finds someone alone, and talks to them quietly. And I see them… their faces, their body language. They all react to him so strangely.”

“They don’t expect him to be so eloquent,” Will said.

“Of course,” Aeliana conceded, “he is surprising in that regard, but it is not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you suppose he does that, Will?” she asked. “Find people who are alone and whisper in their ear. What is he saying?”

Will’s forehead wrinkled.

“What do you think he is saying?”

“I don’t know, but don’t you think it is odd? And he is so familiar with them, and they allow him that familiarity, even people of very high standing…”

“You think this inappropriate, because he is a slave?”

Will’s voice was strained.

“Not inappropriate,” she corrected, “unusual.”

“I figured you for a stoic, Aeliana,” he scoffed.

“You know my feelings on the matter of egalitarianism.”

“Then what does it matter to you if an intelligent man engages in meaningful conversation with high-standing people, were it not that he is a slave?”

Aeliana stammered, feeling herself losing control of the conversation.

“He frightens me,” she said in a hushed voice.

Will sat up and stared at her.

“Why?” he asked. “Is it because of the things he has been made to do in the arena, for the entertainment of other people who had him under their control?”

“It is because of how easily he leaves that behind!” she exclaimed. He looked shocked.

“You want him to dwell on it?”

“Normal people, Will,” Aeliana struggled to explain, “Normal people are affected by such things. They are treated cruelly and they can become like animals and that… that is so pitiable, I understand. Some can come back from it, or at least I’d like to think so.”

“Hannibal has come back from it.”

“Hannibal is amidst it!” she said in a flustered voice. Her words began to spill out. “He becomes so beastly that it is a horror to watch, and then, moments later his words are slinking in through the lone person’s ear as easily as his blade slices through flesh. There is no line between the beast and the man, and it… Will… it chills me to the very core of my being. I can bear it no longer. You must be rid of him.”

Will’s eyes grew wide as he looked back at her. She began to tremble.

“Please, Will… find a compassionate place for Hannibal to live, but away from you and me.”

“No,” he replied.

She began to breathe heavily.

“I tell you, I can’t bear to be in his presence, I feel so afraid. If you love me, and you want me to live here with you…”

“I have told you I love you, Aeliana,” he said. His voice was low and calm, and it made her panic feel more extreme.

“I believe you,” she said, fighting back tears and staring at the ceiling, “but I can’t live in this villa knowing he is out there.”

Will shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

“Please do not resent me for asking you this,” she begged.

“Please do not ask me not to resent you.”

She stood up.

“You would choose your gladiator?”

Will didn’t look at her.

“You have turned it into a choice, not me,” he replied. “Not me.”

“I have asked you what he means to you, but I know you withheld. I have seen the marks he has left on you.”

Will stiffened and wrapped his clothing tighter around himself.

“What can I do, so you don’t need him anymore?” she asked. “Do you want me to hurt you, Will? It is not my wish but I can do that for you.”

He was silent, face red from humiliation. She wiped the tears from her face.

“I am sorry. I despise an ultimatum. But this isn’t a move for control, I swear to you. This is about my most basic comfort and happiness.”

He still didn’t respond, still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“I will go now,” she said. “Again, I am sorry.”

When Aeliana had exited the villa, Will stood up and watched her from the window as she climbed into the carriage. His eyes were wet and he felt a horrible pain in his throat. Then his head began to swim and he had to put his hands on his knees and breathe for a moment.

When her carriage was out of sight, he felt so weary that he walked back to his bedroom. His family shrine stood in the corner. He hadn’t lit the candle in quite some time. He stared at it for a moment, and then approached. He lit the candle, and then moved the family patron statuette, into place while he began to pray. Suddenly, he felt a strange feeling come over his mind. He lifted the statuette and turned around.

Standing behind him was Rufina. Still in her sleeping tunic, still with her lovely tousled red curls, still with the most adoring expression on her face. She put her hand to his chest and stroked.

“You have come all the way out here to see me?” she asked.

Will just stared at her, bewildered.

“I have often dreamed to wake and find you standing in my room, looking over my bed. I didn’t know it was a possibility.”

Suddenly, Will felt waves of venom pour into his mind, pushing the blood against the back of his eyes. He no longer saw this woman as lovely or her expression appealing. He saw her as a lowly, contemptuous thing. A pig worth no more than the scant amount of flesh on her bones.

“No… it is you who have come into my home, uninvited,” he snarled. “You have insulted my family, and so you have insulted me. You do not even deserve the breath you breathe or the valuable organs you rely on.”

He lifted the statuette above and to the side and brought it down hard, again and again until her skull was dented and collapsed from the blows. He dropped the statuette, and looked down at her. Her tunic fell open, revealing the side of her naked body. Flesh.

“What a fucking waste,” he muttered. Then thought again. His mouth began to salivate. “It was a waste, while this pig lived. Now it won’t be.”

Will suddenly jolted out of his vision. He looked down at the floor, which was clean. The statuette remained in his hand, untouched by gore. His hand began to shake uncontrollably, and the statue fell with a loud thud. He stumbled out of the room. Octavio caught him.

“Dominus, are you all right?”

“I must speak with Hannibal,” he said.

Hannibal entered Will’s cubiculum, and looked down at the arrangement of objects on his desk. His eyes sparkled as he touched a hinge for a metal clamp. Will was sitting in his chair, staring ahead at nothing.

“You wished to speak with me, Dominus?”

Will nodded.

“I feel like you are the last person left with whom I can truly confide.”

Hannibal looked at him with a peaceful expression.

“Surely Madame Flos…”

“Aeliana is gone,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Hannibal was surprised, and his tongue clicked faintly.

“Apologies, Dominus.”

“No matter,” Will said, clearing his throat. His eyes glistened with restrained tears.

“I thought you wished to confide in me,” Hannibal said softly.

Will laughed as someone who desperately needed a release.

“I want to, I didn’t say I was good at it.”

Hannibal sat on the edge of his desk.

“I feel…” Will continued, “as though I am losing my mind.”

“Why do you feel this way?”

“It started with bad dreams, as I slept,” he explained. “Now those dreams have escaped into my waking moments.”

“Are you experiencing a bad dream right now?”

“I just did,” Will replied. “I dreamt, for a moment, that I was Rufina’s killer. That I wanted her dead, and when I killed her I felt nothing but pleasure.”

Hannibal turned toward him completely. He had an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Did you want to kill Rufina, when she was alive?”

“No,” Will answered. “I didn’t care for her a great deal, but I did not wish for her death.”

Hannibal nodded.

“Do you wish she was still alive?”

“I can’t say that is true either,” Will confessed.

“Why did Madame Flos leave?”

“She…” Will paused for a moment. “I think she wanted the scales of my heart to tip more in her favor.”

“Once more, you struggle with achieving balance,” Hannibal said.

“I need the both of you,” Will said. “I cannot find harmony within myself.”

“Are those your words, or is the ghost of your father still making demands from his bed?”

“No,” Will shook his head. “I love Aeliana. When I thought I could have you both I was happier than I ever have been in my life.”

“Strip away the belief that you are defined by hearth and home, by status and lineage. And what do you have left?”

“I can’t just do that.”

“Start with the belief that you are an extension of your father. Consider yourself only Will Capanna.”

“I don’t believe that I am an extension of my father.”

“You believe you are an extension of everyone around you.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Will said.

“Today you imagined that you were Rufina’s killer. This was a woman who was rude to you, struck you, and mocked you. It is better now that she is gone but you, Will Capanna, could not wish she was dead. So you became someone who did. You became the person who could kill Rufina Porcius.”

“I have also been Fredo Ligare,” Will said. “What does that mean?”

Hannibal looked at him quizzically.

“In which case were you Fredo?”

“Ren comes to me, in my dreams, demanding to know where his children are. When I say I don’t know, he stabs me, as he did Fredo.”

“You are taking responsibility for the lives of complete strangers. Children you have never met. You believe that the father of those children is making demands of you from beyond the grave, much like your father makes demands of you to bring him grandchildren.”

“I don’t recall my father ever stabbing me,” Will chuckled.

“Didn’t he?” Hannibal asked. “When he implied that your desires and personality were not adequate for his family name?”

“He didn’t mean that.”

“I believe that your father loved you. But he did not understand you. Only you can come to that understanding. Find your own balance, between objects of your choosing, not his.”

“You have found balance yourself,” Will murmured. “Between the man I see here before me, giving me kindly advice, and the man I have seen in the arena vanquishing his foes with gnashing teeth.”

Hannibal grinned.

“We all have that much within us,” he said. “Even you.”

“Maybe so.”

Hannibal stood up and walked toward the door. Will began to follow, but when Hannibal turned around to face him, Will saw a gleam in his eye that made him stop short. He started to walk toward him again, and felt compelled to put out a hand to his chest. He began to caress him, with a thoughtful look on his face.

That curious ephemeral sneer passed over Hannibal’s lips, and Will felt his heart begin to throb.

“Where were you that night, Hannibal?” he asked.

“What night, Dominus?”

“The night Rufina was killed.”

“I was holding down the villa, Dominus,” Hannibal whispered with a hiss.

The hair on Will’s arms and neck prickled.

“What have I…?” Will began. He swallowed when Hannibal pressed toward him. “Who did I bring into my household, when I saved you from the pit?”

“A new scale for balance,” Hannibal answered.

“Tacitus served Spartacus,” said Will, retreating. Hannibal pressed onward. “Who do you serve?”

Hannibal showed Will his brand.

“My house.”

Hannibal looked through the doorway of the cubiculum.

“Which reminds me,” he said. “I believe Octavio has a request.”

Will passed him, not breaking eye contact until he exited the room. Octavio was indeed waiting for him in the atrium.

“What is it you need Octavio?” Will asked him in a quiet voice. The old man bowed and then stopped, a nervous look on his face. Will put his hands on his arms for encouragement.

“Many years ago,” Octavio said, “before you were born. I was torn away from my family and bought by a harsh master. He was not like your father.”

Will hung his head.

“He was not like you,” Octavio added. “He was foolish and… inexcusably cruel.”

“I wish you had never suffered in that way.”

“No, do not wish that. Those days hold a mirror to my days now, and I am happier for it.”

“It is not unlike what Hannibal told me,” Will mused.

“I ask of you precisely what he did,” explained Octavio. He began to lift his tunic up his thigh. “This. This is the loathsome mark of my first master.”

Will saw the brand of the letter “T” had been burned into Octavio’s flesh.

“I did not know you bore a brand,” Will said.

“I have kept it hidden at all times. I considered peeling my own skin off with a blade on numerous occasions, but something held my hand. Now I know it is because I was meant to transform it, like Hannibal has done with his hated mark.”

“You wish to be re-branded?”

“Yes, Dominus, if you please.”

Will swallowed. The idea of branding dear Octavio sickened him. But the pleading look in his eyes swayed him, and he could not refuse.

“Thank you, Dominus. This means a great deal to me.”

“I can do the job, Dominus,” Hannibal said, approaching from behind. Will was startled. “I know you do not cherish the infliction of pain on others.”

Octavio bowed and left the room.

“That would be your job,” Will whispered.

Hannibal placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. It felt oddly comforting, despite how afraid he was of the man.

“I will never lie to you, Dominus,” Hannibal said. “So think on everything you want to ask me, and make sure that you really want to know the answer to those questions.”

“Aeliana,” Will cried, head in his hands. “She was right, and I showed her nothing but scorn. She saw the serpent at my heel.”

Hannibal cringed.

“She saw…”

Will interrupted.

“How dangerous are you?”

“I am only a danger to the other predators,” he said. He pressed up against his back. He pulled Will’s hands away from his face and held them down. “Just know that everything I have done, and everything I will do in the future springs from my devotion to you.”

“Do not act any more without my order,” Will said.

“I am your whim, Dominus.” Hannibal replied, whispering in his ear. His hot breath made Will shudder. Why did these brutal arms feel so wonderful holding him in place?

He allowed Will to turn around to face him. He brushed the hair across his forehead, scanning his face affectionately.

“I’ll leave you to your project, Dominus. It is coming along very nicely.”

Will stood still for a moment, then returned to his cubiculum.

“Would it be acceptable,” Hannibal asked, “If I made a special trip? I think I know of something that might help you with your contraption.”

Will looked at him questioningly.

“It will take but a couple of days, Dominus. I believe you will find the item useful.”

The young man nodded, and disappeared through the doorway.

* * *

 

Much later, in Capua, Ilithyia lie in her bed moaning and clutching the hand of her body slave. Her baby was on its way, and the anchor of her life was being cast, for better or worse. Suddenly a shriek rang out from another room. Ilithyia looked through her doorway to see Lucretia walk into view.

“I thought I heard a cry,” Ilithyia said, relieved. Then lightning flashed and she could see that Lucretia was holding a large knife and her dress was stained with blood.

“What have you done?” Ilithyia whispered.

“What was always intended,” Lucretia hissed. “To see curse upon this house lifted.”

Ilithyia’s slave stood up and walked toward Lucretia, who immediately stabbed her in the belly. Ilithyia screamed, only able to watch from her bed as Lucretia straddled the slave and stabbed her repeatedly while whispering, “Ssh…”

When she was dead, Lucretia looked up at Ilithyia and said in a cheerful voice, “No one left to come between us.”

Ilithyia stared at her, terrified. The child inside of her was on the brink of leaving her womb.

“Stop, please,” she begged through tears. “We are friends, are we not?

Lucretia spoke with a bitter countenance.

“The very best.”

“Then why would you do this?” Ilithyia sobbed. “Why would you take my life, and that of my child?”

“Your child?” Lucretia asked, her face reflecting the ludicrousness of Ilithyia’s claim. “You are but a vessel. Carrying a gift from the gods, to the House of Batiatus.”

Ilithyia gasped.

“Now then,” continued Lucretia, “let us see it unwrapped.”

Panic overcame Ilithyia. She began to cry, but her desperate whimpers turned into screams as Lucretia climbed over her bed toward her, knife in hand. She lifted the pregnant woman’s dress and looked for the spot she had seen in the books Hannibal mentioned. It was the same location of the scar on her own belly.

“Ab utero caeso,” she muttered.

Ilithyia put her hands in front of her, but Lucretia grabbed them and held her down as she began to slit her lower belly open. The sound of her friend’s pain-filled screams didn’t stop her, or change the placid expression on her face.

“Oh,” Lucretia released a hushed moan when she saw that Hannibal was right. The baby could be pulled out through the slit, ready to live and breathe in this world. She dug her hands inside and lifted him from his organic cradle.

Ilithyia could barely breathe from the pain, choking and sobbing. She watched in horror as Lucretia snipped the umbilical cord and swaddled her infant in a blanket.

The madwoman slowly walked out of the villa, the stolen newborn crying in her arms. Ilithyia desperately crawled after her on her belly across the marble floor, past the bodies of the house-slaves Lucretia had slaughtered.

“Lucretia!” she screamed, dragging a trail of blood behind her.

Lucretia approached the edge of a monstrous cliff beside the ludus. She held the child out in front of her and smiled down at him.

“Hush now, little one,” she said, “You are safe now. You are loved, and shall be forever.”

Ilithyia stumbled outside, falling onto the dusty ground. The front of her dress was soaked in her blood. Lucretia turned back to stare at her, as she crawled toward her. A pitiful smile touched Lucretia’s face as Ilithyia clambered to her feet again and begged for mercy.

“Quintus always wanted a son,” Lucretia told her in a soothing voice. “Because of you… we shall have one.”

Lucretia looked down at the baby’s face, still smeared with blood and afterbirth. Tears stung her eyes. The child in her arms felt much like the returned limb. She gave Ilithyia one last grateful look, and pushed backward from the edge of the precipice. She dropped as a stone.

Ilithyia fell to her knees, unable to muster a scream. She lacked the strength to even clutch at her wound to stop the bleeding.

“No,” she breathed.

The blood loss and shock at what had just happened caused her to fall to the ground in a faint. As she sank into delirium, she thought she heard the sound of children laughing. Or was it the creaking sound of the ludus gate opening? She looked over her shoulder to see a man dressed in gladiator armor walking toward her. As he grew closer, she could see nothing but a shadowy figure, and then nothing at all. Strong arms lifted her up from the blood-stained dirt and began to carry her. Then her consciousness faded to oblivion.


	4. The Rebels in the Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the new chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some helpful words:  
> Salve/Salvete: A Roman greeting  
> Ichneumon: Mongoose  
> Gustatio: Appetizer   
> Primae Mensa: Main course

Marcus Licinius Crassus lived in a veritable palace in Rome. Hannibal and Will were brought into an expansive training room to greet the wealthiest and, arguably, most powerful man in the city and found him in modest attire sparring with his doctore. Crassus was getting on in years, but his body was lean and muscular and he fought with agility and speed. His bare feet darted about in the sand pit as he held his training sword with the deftness of a great general. When he had mastered his opponent, the doctore bowed to his dominus and stepped aside.

“Magister Will Capanna and his doctore, Hannibal, are here to speak with you, Dominus,” the vilicus announced.

Crassus accepted a slave’s offering of drink and a cloth to mop the sweat from his face and throat.

“ _Salvete_ , gentlemen,” he greeted them.

“You fight well, General Crassus,” Hannibal commented.

“Welcome praise from a champion of the arena!” Crassus replied with a chuckle.

“How fares the fight against Spartacus?” Will asked when they were seated.

“Miserable,” Crassus muttered. “Again and again generals and their men fall to his band of rebels.”

Will nodded and took a breath.

“Their downfall has been underestimating their opponent.”

“I have to agree,” Crassus responded. “Spartacus has proven to be more than a mere slave.”

“He is a slave,” Will corrected. “Slaves are men and women who have had a net thrown over them. There is no logical reason to expect less of them than any other person.”

Crassus narrowed his eyes for a moment and then nodded.

“This auxiliary that we are funding together,” Will continued, “How do you suppose it will succeed when others have failed?”

“I have assembled the best men in the legion,” Crassus told him.

“The men who have died before them were capable fighters as well,” Will pointed out. “Perhaps a new method is in order.”

“What do you suggest?” Crassus asked.

“That you put yourself into the mindset of your enemy,” Will replied. “Consider what he would do, given a particular situation, and formulate a counter-strategy.”

Crassus leaned back and scrutinized the young man who was giving him advice.

“How should I know what rattles around in Spartacus’ brain?”

“Spartacus has one particular disadvantage,” Will explained. “He is only able to recruit slaves. These are people who hail from diverse cultures and have no particular loyalties other than a shared animosity towards Romans. Spartacus has the unenviable task of keeping them unified, despite their differences.”

“They appear to be quite unified,” Crassus sniffed.

“You must take that from him,” Will instructed. “Marginalize his party from within, and they will fall apart.”

Hannibal listened with interest as Will shared his plan.

“Spartacus is not in a position to vet every recruit that comes his way. Disguise a Roman soldier as a slave and have him infiltrate the army. Choose someone clever, someone who can use his position to turn Spartacus’ men against each other. Then watch them split ways, and pick them off with ease.”

Crassus blinked back at Will for a moment, and then a low chuckle erupted from his throat. He clapped the young man on the back.

“That is quite a scheme,” he said, gesturing at the slave to bring them wine. “I might just give it some consideration.”

As they left the house of Crassus, Hannibal strode behind Will and observed the young man.

“He respected your opinion,” Hannibal said as they climbed into the carriage.

“I know little of warfare,” Will replied, “But on human nature, I feel I have some insight.”

* * *

 

His hand was hot and moist on the back of her neck as he pushed her forward. Judith stumbled over the dirt pathway as they approached the pen of pigs. She gasped when he thrust her up against the wooden enclosure and looked upon the carnage within.

“This is something you need to see,” Cementarius sneered. He forced her head forward so that she was nearly bending over the gate.

A slave had been gut and was tied to a peg hammered into the mud. The pigs rutted through his bowels, his blood staining their toothed snouts. Judith tried to restrain her gagging response.

“When you listen to the words of my abolitionist sister,” Cementarius explained, “I want you to remember what happens to slaves who forget their place.”

“I pay no mind to her words, Dominus,” Judith insisted. She closed her eyes, but the image of the bound slave, intestines spilled in the mud, beasts chewing on his organs, remained in her vision.

Cementarius watched his pigs devour the errant slave and a giddy expression came over him. He laughed and bounced a bit before turning on Judith once more.

“When she beckons you to her bedchamber,” he cooed, “You will remember who you really belong to, won’t you? I know your lips and fingers smell of her, but it is my cock that will split you open.”

He grabbed her hips and began to lift her tunic, his hand grasping her hair, keeping her face turned to the punished slave. Judith gritted her teeth and stiffened against him.

“Brother, dear,” a voice rang out behind them. Cementarius stopped and looked over his shoulder. Margarita stood between the pen and the villa, dark hair moving in the breeze. “If you do not mind, I have need of my attendant.”

The relief caused Judith to tremble, and a tear fell down her cheek as Cementarius released her.

“Of course, Margarita, of course,” he said. “I was merely bestowing a lesson on the girl.”

Judith walked quickly toward her domina and the two went inside of the villa.

“I can’t bear to see him touch you,” Margarita told her as they entered her bedchamber.

“I feel as though he fouls me simply putting eyes upon me.”

Margarita began to remove the outer garments of her dress. Judith attended her, lowering the sleeves and unwrapping the fabric around her torso.

“I am sorry you had to see Ennio in that way,” Margarita whispered.

“He put his life at risk,” Judith replied, “When he spoke of Spartacus to the other slaves.”

Margarita ran her fingers through Judith’s hair and watched her pull her dress away.

“Would that Spartacus would come here,” she murmured.

“He would kill your brother,” Judith said.

Margarita smiled and put her head back. Judith began to kiss along her bare collar, over the tops of her breasts.

“That is an alluring thought,” Margarita sighed. “He would kill me as well.”

Judith lifted her face.

“I would vouch for you,” she said.

“Spartacus would not care,” Margarita responded, pulling her closer. “Don’t worry, I would die with a smile on my lips.”

She kissed Judith, and the slave pressed into her, pulling Margarita’s undergarments away from her breasts and massaging them in her hands.

“You would die to see Rome free?”

“I would die to see Rome die,” Margarita laughed.

The fell onto the bed together and Judith lifted Margarita’s skirt and lay kisses on her thighs. The domina gave her a coaxing gesture.

“Let me see you, beauty,” she said.

Judith smiled and sat up on her knees. She lifted her tunic over her head and arched her back, displaying her breasts and slender belly. Margarita looked upon her lovingly.

“Neither of us is free,” she whispered.

Judith lowered her head between Margarita’s legs, pushing her backside up so that her domina could see the heart-shape of her cheeks and the curve of her spine.

“One day Rome will burn, and the rebels will climb atop the ruins of this wretched land, and you and I will leave it hand in hand.”

Margarita exhaled as Judith pressed her lips against her vulva and began to lick, began to push her fingers inside of her, knowing exactly how she liked to be stroked and touched. She buried her fingers in her lover’s hair and moaned.

“Spartacus will be too busy to pay us any mind,” Judith stopped to say.

“Then gods give him strength… and a blind spot…” Margarita gasped, and threw her head back on the pillow.

* * *

 

Ilithyia opened her eyes and looked around her. She was lying on a bed in a small cabin. To her side stood a wooden chair with a carafe and a basin of water on the seat. She tried to roll over, but the pain in her belly caused her to emit a sharp cry. She heard footsteps and lay back, staring at the doorway to the next room.

Hannibal emerged with cloths and ointment in his hand.

“Lucretia…” she muttered.

“You will recover,” Hannibal said, sitting next to her. He reached out and began to remove the bandages over her abdomen. Ilithyia groaned when she saw the stitches in her flesh. Hannibal handed her the carafe and slowly tipped the water into her mouth. She took it and drank eagerly.

“When you do,” Hannibal continued, dipping a cloth into the basin and tenderly washing her wound, “I will return you to your uncle in Rome.”

Ilithyia brushed the moisture from her lips and gave the carafe back to Hannibal.

“I’m sure he will pay you a hefty price,” she said bitterly.

Hannibal smiled at her.

“You would sell me back into slavery?” she continued

Hannibal put ointment onto her stitches and began to bandage her up with fresh cloth.

“Slavery is what we make of it,” he told her. “Like Lucretia, you will bear the name of one who was spared by the gods. Use that to your advantage, and take power where you can.”

Ilithyia relaxed into the bed and stared up at the rustic ceiling. A thoughtful smirk played at her lips.

* * *

 

Fredo’s vilicus had grown accustomed to making sure that he had adequate parchment and quills, but he hadn’t received many visitors recently. The lanista had sunken into depression, and it showed. He lay on the reclining couch beside his desk, barely touching his food or drink. The tiny segment of tongue at the back of his throat was barely enough to push the food around in his mouth, and it unnerved him. Previously he had called out to a slave with a pitiful moaning sound, but it humiliated him and so he had resigned to silence.

“Will Capanna is here to see you, Dominus,” the vilicus said.

Fredo groaned and considered waving him away with refusal, but thought better of it. When the young man entered the cubiculum, he glowered up at him from behind his desk.

“Thank you for seeing me, Fredo,” Will said. “I know we left on bad terms previously.”

Fredo laughed a bit, and it made him cough.

“I have something for you,” Will continued. “It may help alleviate your current condition.”

Will pulled a satchel from his garment and set it down on Fredo’s desk. The lanista eyed it and looked back at Will with a suspicious raised eyebrow.

“Please, I give you my word that it is a genuine gift. I wish you no more suffering.”

Fredo unwrapped the satchel and pulled out the contraption that Will had been laboring over for the last week. It was a strip of thick, treated leather attached to a two-sided clamping mechanism. The metal was also treated, and gleamed in the candlelight.

“Please, allow me,” Will said, and moved toward the couch. Fredo pulled back, but that didn’t stop Will’s advances. The young man twisted open the empty side of the clamp.

“Open your mouth, it slides right inside.”

Fredo shot him an incredulous expression.

“I’ve tried it on myself, it’s not painful.”

Fredo opened up and grunted a bit when Will gently slid the contraption inside. He found the segment of sliced tongue that remained near the back of his mouth and closed the clamp onto it. Then he tightened it into place. It was momentarily uncomfortable, but the snugness held the leather in place. The strip was sturdy like a muscle, but still had flexibility to it. Will pulled back to examine his work. He adjusted the leather a bit, and then smiled.

“Try speaking,” he said.

Fredo began to talk.

“Try speaking,” he repeated with a severe impediment. His eyes opened wide.

“If you practice, you can learn to use it as you would a tongue,” Will said.

Fredo moved his mouth around. The prosthetic extension was extremely awkward, but when he nudged it against his teeth and palate, he could feel it somewhat on the stump of actual tongue that remained.

“Where did you get it?” he asked. His words were still muffled and over-enunciated, but Will could tell that the “tongue” was doing what he had intended.

“I made it,” he answered. “I designed it myself, with advice from my stable-master.”

Fredo looked impressed, and sat up on the couch. Will was sitting next to him with a sheepish grin.

“Not quite like your old tongue, I know,” he said, “But I’ve seen people come to use artificial limbs with almost no loss of dexterity.”

Fredo moved the tongue in and out of his mouth. The treatment on the leather made it smooth and workable.

“Thank you,” he stammered, working over the consonants.

“It is the least I could do,” Will replied.

Fredo sniffed and nodded in agreement.

“I am willing to renege my slander charges against you,” Will told him, “And help negate your status of infamia, on one condition.”

Fredo raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me where Ren’s children are residing, and allow me the deed to the villa rustica so that I may see to it personally that they are well cared for.”

“Why are they so important to you?” Fredo asked.

“Doctore Ren haunts my dreams,” Will confessed. “Perhaps if I care for his children as if they were my own, he would let me rest.”

“You believe you can restore my citizenry?”

“I know I can,” Will promised.

Fredo thought for a moment, and reached for a parchment. He began to write up the deed.

“Have you considered,” he mused, “That Ren haunts you because you keep that treacherous beast so near?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Whatever it is he does for you,” Fredo warned. “It isn’t worth it, my friend.”

* * *

 

The handsome, fair-haired man remained disheveled even after he had returned from fighting and bathed. His locks were shaggy and his face unshaved. Behind the scruff, his blue eyes shimmered with a manic energy and inquisitive mind.

“Gaeus Julius Caesar,” he greeted Will and Hannibal as they visited Crassus Villa. “You must be Magister Will Graham and his famous cannibal gladiator!”

Hannibal only smirked at the irreverence, the young man’s lighthearted manner gave his brash words a certain charm.

“Salve,” Will replied. “Crassus tells me you are the one to infiltrate Spartacus’ slave army, as a spy.”

“Yes. Your idea, I believe?”

Will smiled and replied, “I see you’ve maintained your rough appearance. Good.”

“I shall slither in undetected and strike them when they are pissing themselves drunk,” Caesar laughed.

Hannibal moved forward so that his face was near to his and murmured, “You must use your tongue, and not your sword. Turn slave against slave, and your hand will not need to touch the hilt.”

Caesar cocked his head and gave Hannibal a sly wink. As the two exited, Will turned and gave Caesar one last word of advice.

“Don’t forget the brand.”

“What?” Caesar asked.

“Brand yourself,” Will explained, “And they will believe you are one of them.”

* * *

 

Back at the villa, Will followed Hannibal into the barracks.

“Caesar’s reputation precedes him,” he said.

“I have heard of his valor in battle,” Hannibal replied.

“Do you admire him?” Will asked.

“That I cannot yet say,” Hannibal answered. “To be a soldier is of some merit, but to be an assassin, an architect of espionage, that is quite another rung on the ladder.”

“Where do you place yourself on the ladder?”

Hannibal tilted his head toward the young man, letting his soft hair fall across his forehead as he smiled.

“There is no need for ladders when one can scale walls.”

Will moved closer to him and said, “Would that I could find my own identity, and maintain it with loyalty without regard to any consequences.”

“What identity are you incapable of maintaining in your current position?”

“My relationship to you,” Will answered.

“What is it you desire from our relationship?”

Will leaned his head against Hannibal’s breast and whispered, “That we could reverse our roles.”

“I the master, and you the slave?” Hannibal chuckled, petting his dark curls.

“It is a perversion, I know…” Will began.

“Stop,” Hannibal told him. “There is no perversion. It is a shoddy construct created by the same fools who invented the social hierarchy we currently fight against.”

Hannibal pressed his lips to the top of Will’s head.

“Tell me what you want, and do not be ashamed of it.”

Will took a deep breath and answered, “I want to be yours. Not symbolically, or metaphorically, I want you to literally own me. I want you to… punish me. Strip me naked, beat me, chain me to your bedpost, use me as you like.”

“Brand you,” Hannibal suggested.

Will looked up at him with eyes wide. Hannibal grinned when he saw the glimmer of excitement there. Will’s nostrils flared and his tongue darted between his lips.

“Oh gods, yes,” he sighed. “What could be more thoroughly debasing?”

Hannibal turned away to the glowing hot furnace. He brought out one of the branding irons and shoved it into the coals.

“No,” Will stammered, “Not in reality. It is merely a fantasy.”

“Oh,” Hannibal returned to him with a jovial sneer. “Symbolic then? Metaphoric?”

Will looked at the iron in the fire, blessed mingling of fear and arousal stirring in his gut. He realized that once again he would not be able to refuse whatever Hannibal offered to him. Hannibal knew it too.

His rough fingers ran over Will’s tunic, pulling it away from him in deft movements. Will closed his eyes and allowed himself to be stripped. Hannibal led him to the table by the furnace and lifted him up on it. He pushed him onto his back and fetched a rope from the wall. Will trembled and watched as the gladiator bound his hands to the table legs, then spread his knees far apart and bound his ankles to the table as well. He pulled Will’s hips forward until his ass was perched at the very edge.

Hannibal pushed his fingers into his mouth, and then lowered them between Will’s legs. Will moaned and arched into the touch.

“You want to belong to me?” Hannibal asked, probing his fingers inside of him.

Will nodded emphatically, biting his lip.

“You want me to make a slave of you?”

“Yes,” Will gasped, “I do.”

“Let us crush everything that keeps us from being what we are,” Hannibal said. He began to fondle Will’s stiffening genitals as he pushed his fingers deeper.

“I want to,” Will told him.

“Beg me for what you need,” Hannibal said, his voice low and gruff.

“Fuck me,” Will answered, pushing his hips forward as much as he could from the bonds.

“I’ve fucked you before,” Hannibal replied. “That’s not what you need.”

“Anything you want,” Will insisted. Hannibal’s fingers were pressing inside of him, stretching him, nudging him until shivers ran over his body.

“You know what I want,” Hannibal hissed. “Now beg me for it.”

“Brand me…” Will answered in a small, shaking voice. He continued, louder, stronger, “Brand me, please. Make me yours.”

Hannibal pulled the flat-nosed iron out of the coals and held it over Will. The young man stared back at it, shuddering in fear. He stretched out on the table, back arching against the wood, lean torso lurching with every breath. He released a sharp cry when Hannibal lowered the brand directly above his groin, along the dark patch of his pubic hair. Will could feel the blazing heat before it even touched his skin, could hear the sound of hair singing, smell it like burning feathers.

Hannibal pressed the glowing tip against his flesh and Will jolted against his bonds, screaming. Hannibal pulled it away and looked in awe at the discoloration on the skin. He lowered it again and made a parallel mark. Will twisted his shoulders and threw his head back on the table. His scream came out silent this time, voiceless breath emerging from his stretched throat. When Hannibal pulled back once more, Will began to sob and thrash.

“One more, my pet,” Hannibal soothed, and pressed the iron once more, between the two lines, making an H-shape.

Tears fell down Will’s cheeks and he began to hyperventilate, sucking in air and pushing it out between clenched teeth. Hannibal put the branding iron aside and brushed his hand over Will’s wet face.

“Hannibal,” Will moaned.

“Yes?” he answered, fondling Will’s cock and smiling as it stiffened once more, despite the pain he was in.

“Fuck me now,” the young man groaned, “Please.”

Hannibal untied Will’s ankles from the table legs then brought them up so that his knees were pinned to his chest. He took his cock out and slid it between Will’s cheeks. Will squirmed and gyrated up against him.

“Please, Hannibal, I can’t take the pain…”

“You need pleasure to dull it,” Hannibal responded.

“Yes, please, I need it.”

Will strained against the ropes, pushing his hips up as Hannibal stroked him.

“Hannibal,” he whimpered.

“Dominus,” Hannibal corrected.

Will felt the air leave his lungs, and his eyelashes fluttered as his face flushed.

“Dominus,” he whispered. “Fuck me, Dominus, please.”

Hannibal pushed his cock into him and began to thrust hard, until Will’s grateful moans turned into desperate, broken bleats.

As Will slept, he dreamed once again that he was before the tomb of his father. He laid flowers at the entrance to the great mausoleum. Again he saw Hannibal approach, dressed in a general’s armor. Now he resisted, pulling away when Hannibal reached for him. The gladiator overcame him and threw him over his shoulder. He carried him away as Will clawed and kicked, reaching out for his father’s grave.

* * *

 

“I must speak to Aeliana again,” Will told Hannibal in the carriage as they traveled through Rome. Octavio rode with them. “I want the both of you to wait for me in the marketplace.”

“Of what do you wish to speak?” Hannibal asked.

“I must try to win her approval once more.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed and Octavio shifted in his seat.

“I know that Madame Flos does not approve of my place in your household,” Hannibal pointed out.

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at the villa rustica, and guarded Ren’s children,” Will explained.

“Away from you, Will?” Hannibal retorted. He shot a glance at Octavio who twitched suddenly. “Away from you, Dominus?”

“I will be there often,” Will promised. “You will only be away from Aeliana. That is all.”

“These are dangerous times for a wealthy landowner,” Hannibal warned. “I insist that I remain in the villa with you.”

“We can speak about this later,” Will replied. “I do not know what Aeliana will even say to my proposal.”

The carriage came to a halt and Will disembarked. An intense far-off gaze pierced the air in front of Hannibal’s golden eyes. They darted with thought.

As Octavio perused the marketplace near the Flos villa, he noticed that Hannibal had wandered into the doorway of a tavern. The scent of cheap, starchy ale didn’t seem to him like a smell that would attract the refined doctore, so he didn’t follow but instead chose to watch discreetly from behind a vendor stand.

Hannibal approached a hooded figure leaning against a wall indoors. The person was petite, especially when standing before Hannibal. Octavio guessed it might be a woman. When Hannibal spoke to the stranger, she stood upright and looked to place a hand on a weapon within her wraps. Hannibal steadied her, and Octavio’s brow furrowed when he saw the smirk on Hannibal’s face. His lips began to move, but Octavio could not tell what he was saying. Hannibal pulled up his wrist guard and showed the woman the mark of House Capanna on his forearm. Then he handed her a small, tightly-rolled parchment, which she opened and glanced over. The hooded woman nodded, and backed away from Hannibal.

When she exited the tavern, a breeze pulled her hood back from her face a bit, and Octavio examined her. She was dark-skinned, with braided hair. She was strikingly beautiful, but something about her made him shiver; a stony coldness of her expression, and a well of profound hatred behind her eyes.

* * *

 

In the night, when Will’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a shriek and a clashing of metal, he thought he was dreaming again. He scanned the room for ghostly apparitions before he realized that the commotion was coming from outside of the villa. He heard another cry and sat upright in bed.

Moments later, Hannibal burst into his room and rushed over to him.

“The rebels have infiltrated the villa!” he told him in a hushed voice. “The soldiers are holding them off, but there are a great many and they may be overcome. I must hide you.”

Hannibal guided Will out of a back door and over to a well beside the slave’s quarters. He removed the iron plate that covered it.

“You can hide in here, until I’ve ushered them away,” he said.

Will climbed onto the side of the well and put his feet into the bucket.

“I am sorry, Dominus,” Hannibal said. “I have failed you.”

“No, you have saved my life,” Will replied. “You were right. Had I not brought you in to train my soldiers, I would be dead before I heard their screams.”

Hannibal grabbed him and kissed him, then quickly lowered him down into the well. When Will reached the bottom, Hannibal covered the opening with the plate and hurried back to the villa. As he walked toward the gate, the rebels came toward him with swords drawn. He lifted his arm to show them his brand, and they led him into the house.

A handsome but formidable man around Hannibal’s age had taken over Will’s cubiculum and was rummaging through paperwork on his desk. The man accompanying him stood out among the rebels, as he was quite small and had gentle features and long, dark hair. He noticed Hannibal entering.

“He is a slave,” one of the rebels informed them, “He wears a brand.”

The man at the desk, who appeared to be the leader, greeted Hannibal.

“With whom do I speak?”

“I am Hannibal, the doctore. I train the soldiers for the Dominus’ property.”

“You have done impressive work,” Spartacus said. “I have not yet encountered such skillful fighters on a Roman’s personal property before. It was a shame to have to slaughter them.”

Hannibal laughed.

“Perhaps I didn’t push them hard enough, or perhaps only just hard enough.” He winked and continued, “You must be Spartacus.”

“That I am,” he answered. “This is my brother-in-arms, Nasir.”

Nasir’s smile was warm and he bowed his head as a well-trained house slave might.

“Am I right in assuming you are quite the fighter yourself?” Spartacus asked.

“I was a gladiator, not long ago, before the Dominus purchased me for this house.”

“A gladiator!” Nasir exclaimed, “Our favorite form of recruit!”

“Indeed,” Spartacus said with a smile, “Please, join us in our cause, now that you are a free man.”

Hannibal nodded and returned the smile.

“Thank you for the offer, but I would prefer to gather what I can and return to my precious homeland, far away from these Roman cunts; if you will allow me.”

Spartacus was clearly disappointed.

“In which direction must you travel?”

“North,” Hannibal answered, “Very far to the north, where it is much too cold for delicate Roman skin.”

“Ah,” Spartacus said, “We head south… to Rome.”

“Stopping here for supplies?”

“One of our scouts was given a tip that this villa was poorly guarded and filled with valuable exploits,” Spartacus responded. “The second was true, but the first, not so. No matter, we benefit from practice.”

“May the gods themselves lend you their swords.”

“Thank you, Hannibal,” he began to look through the papers again. “I only wish you would reconsider…”

A great riot of cries and screaming erupted from outside. Spartacus looked up suddenly with concern as one of the rebels came running in.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“We have found the dominus,” the rebel answered. Hannibal jolted noticeably and Spartacus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“He was hiding in a well near the slave’s quarters. The well was covered. Someone obviously hid him there.”

“Why the uproar?” Spartacus asked, still observing Hannibal as the doctore’s breathing hastened.

“The slaves,” the rebel told him, irritated. “They are wailing and making a fuss, begging us to spare him. Crixus and Agron are crucifying the little shit as we sp…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Hannibal drew his sword and slashed it across the rebel’s throat, slicing it open. Spartacus and Nasir drew their weapons and attempted to bring him down, but he fought with a ferocity that they had not expected and found themselves retreating more than advancing. Suddenly, an anguished cry rang out, accompanied by the metallic clanging of a hammer on nail. Hannibal flew toward the doorway, slicing through any other rebels who blocked his path. He emerged into the daylight and ran toward the crowd. The slaves were, in fact, crying and throwing themselves on the ground in front of the rebels who had Will tied up on a wooden cross. A large man was pounding a nail into one of his soft hands, causing blood to spurt onto the ground in front of him.

“Please!” Octavio begged. “Please, he is kind… he is a good man. Spare his life, I beg you!”

“He is a Roman and a slaver!” the other crucifier yelled. “He deserves no less.”

The slaves saw Hannibal running toward them and screamed at him.

“Doctore! Doctore, help him! Stop them!”

“Agron!” Nasir called out, running after Hannibal.

The man called Agron saw Spartacus and Nasir chasing the armed man and he charged, along with more rebels. Hannibal took them on, roaring and spitting and cursing like a madman. There were too many of them, and even The Cannibal was overwhelmed. Spartacus knocked him on the head with the pommel of his sword and Agron and Nasir grabbed him by the arms and pushed him to his knees. The man who nailed Will’s hand came toward him, sword pointed.

“Who is this?”

Spartacus regained himself.

“Crixus, he is the doctore of the barracks here. He is a slave.”

“Why do you fight us? We only wish to free you,” Crixus asked.

“Get… him… down…” Hannibal snarled, his face showing viciousness that even the gladiators he fought on the sands never had the horror of witnessing.

“I know you,” another rebel exclaimed, approaching them.

“Gannicus?” Spartacus remarked, surprised to see the look of admiration on his face.

“You are Hannibal the Cannibal,” Gannicus continued. “You were the boogeyman all of the gladiators spoke of while we drank. I thanked the gods I never had to face you.”

“Don’t thank them yet,” Hannibal growled. Even in his subdued state, Gannicus took a step back from the man.

Spartacus walked around to face Hannibal.

“A moment ago you were friendly with us; chatting about returning home. Now you make attempt on our lives? What is that meaning of this?”

“I say it again, get that man down!”

He looked at Will, whose face had grown pale from the blood loss. Nasir noticed that Hannibal’s eyes were wet as he gazed up at his dominus.

“I have been where you are, brother,” Nasir said. “I was in the highest position a house-slave could be when Spartacus came to my dominus’ villa. I was angry with him. I tried to kill him. I thought that I had lost something that day. I promise you, freedom is far greater than any status a slave…”

Hannibal groaned loudly and pushed himself up from his knees. Agron, Nasir, and now Crixus forced him down again, startled by his strength.

“Don’t make us kill you!” Agron shouted.

“I know it’s hard,” Nasir spoke, “But embrace your freedom, and you will come to love it.”

Hannibal stared back at Will, whose head had lolled forward toward his chest. He bit his lip for a moment, eyes darting in thought. Spartacus simply watched, unsure of what to think.

"He is not Will Capanna!" Hannibal cried out suddenly. "He is a slave, like all of us!"

The men stopped what they were doing.

"He has the appearance of a Roman noble," Spartacus said.

"It is a charade," Hannibal answered. His voice was hoarse and strange, filled with desperation. "We killed the dominus weeks ago. This boy is called Ichneumon. He looked vaguely like Dominus Capanna, and as the master was such a recluse, it took little effort to pretend he was the man himself."

Crixus looked Will up and down. He seemed unsure.

"Lift his tunic and look upon his pelvis, you will see we bear the same mark."

Nasir rushed up to Will and followed Hannibal's instructions. He recognized the brand as somewhat similar to the one on Hannibal's arm, and being a former body slave himself, understood what the location meant for Ichneumon. He stepped out of the way as he lifted the clothing, to let his kinsman see.

The gathered slaves began to murmur and Octavio quickly gestured for their silence.

"Release me!" Hannibal roared. Spartacus and Gannicus obeyed and Hannibal ran toward the man on the cross.

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered, running a hand over Will's ashen face.

"Hannibal," he croaked, his throat dry.

"Ssh, I have you," he said. He began to pull the terrible spike out of Will's hand. Will cried out and pressed his face into his arm as it slowly emerged, blood trickling down his wrist and arm. "I have you," Hannibal repeated in a soothing whisper. He untied the ropes on his arms and slowly lowered Will into his own.

"Our profoundest apologies," Agron told him. He moved toward Will in his shame, but was halted by Hannibal's raised hand.

Spartacus looked uneasy. Something was gnawing at his senses. Hannibal knelt to the ground with Will over his shoulder and pulled the bloody tunic up over the young man's head and discarded it to the side. His back was covered in signs of former lashings. Spartacus looked at the ground, his muscles easing a bit.

"His immediate appearance is misleading indeed," he said.

"We had counted on that," Octavio replied. He shook like a sickly animal when the words emerged from his mouth.

The rebels stepped aside as Hannibal now carried Will, draped across his arms, into the villa. They followed until Hannibal and the apparent body slave disappeared into the dominus bedroom.

"Gods bless you, Hannibal," Octavio whispered to him as he followed.

 Gannicus looked upon the family shrine in the atrium. Three busts sat upon it, of a senior gentleman who must have been Servius, a lady who must have been the former domina, and a young man who could only be Will Capanna. He was identical to Ichneumon. Gannicus lifted it and stared at the familiar face.

"The likeness is impeccable," he muttered.

Nasir looked on.

"It wouldn't be the first time a dominus wanted a body slave who resembled himself. They have no shortage of self-love."

Agron was clearly shaken by what he had done and leaned against a wall.

"You could not possibly have known of their plan," Nasir assured him.

"I should have waited before acting," he said. "What if I had judged you so harshly based on your appearance and proximity to your former master?"

Nasir knew what it was to be used for the sexual pleasure of a powerful dominus, and the way it consumes one identity until there was very little left to salvage. He embraced Agron, the man who had shown him a love between equals of which he had never dreamed.

"I lived to see myself gain new reason to exist on this plane, and so will he. Just be glad the man who used and marked him has been deposed."

"Speaking of such," Spartacus said. He ducked into the dominus’ bedroom where Hannibal was dressing Ichneumon's hand wound and Octavio was whispering something to him in the dark. The old man visibly lurched when he saw Spartacus enter.

"I must ask you what you have done with the body of your former dominus," Spartacus said.

Hannibal looked at Octavio and gave him a suggestive nod. Octavio returned the look and stood up.

"Follow me," he replied.

"Octavio speaks wisely," Hannibal said to Will when they were alone, referring to the words exchanged just before Spartacus had interrupted them. "There are many slaves in this household and not all will reinforce your disguise. We must escape before you are discovered."

Octavio had taken Spartacus and Crixus to a refuse pit outside of the barracks. In it was a pile of bones with Rufina's flesh burned entirely from them.

"These are indeed human remains," Crixus said, lifting a skull. Then he lifted a hip bone and inspected it more closely. "There are gnaw marks here."

"He was as a beast in life," Octavio retorted, "it seemed fitting that he be treated as such in death."

Spartacus and Crixus looked back at him in horror. Then a slowly building laugh escaped from Crixus throat. He was still laughing when they returned to the villa to tell their comrades of what they found.

"A round of drinks!" Gannicus called out, "In honor of Hannibal and his cannibals!"

Will heard those last words from his bed and closed his eyes.

"He has shown him Rufina," he said.

"Yes."

"Whose bones lie as that of a pig, roasted and chewed."

Hannibal looked down at him in silence.

Will's laugh was a weak and quiet reflection of Crixus' own.

"What have you made of me?" he groaned.

"A man with no limitations," Hannibal replied.

"I would be angry, were it not that I'd be crucified without you."

"Be angry at me when we have made for the hills," Hannibal said.

"The hills? What of Rome?"

"They will undoubtedly be guarding that road," Hannibal answered. "Especially once they know we have fled. I have a place in mind where we can hide."

"I fear for the rest of my house," Will said. "They will either be victims or fugitivus. I must do something for them before we go."

The rebels were celebrating out in the yard. They had found the wine in the pantry and were enjoying it loudly.

"Spartacus!" Crixus called out, "Why do you not join us in our revelry?"

"Something vexes me," Spartacus replied. Crixus knew his friend and leader was a man of good sense, but he was ready to argue.

"It is a perfect place for us to stay for a while, nestled off of the road, stocked with provisions for our army, and in prime position to attack Rome."

"All of that is true," Spartacus said. "And yet I feel we are not secure. Our hosts do not put me at ease."

"Hannibal and his clan are of great asset to us," Gannicus said. "He is a gladiator like no other, and this charade he constructed is brilliant. We would do well to make him our ally."

Hannibal emerged from the villa.

"What say you, fellow gladiator?" Gannicus asked him.

"I say the former dominus of this household was but a _gustatio_. I am ready to feast on _primae mensa_!" Hannibal called out to the raucous laughter and cheering of his new audience. "May all of Rome be invited to our banquet!"

Spartacus could not help but smile at this.

"Now we are at an understanding," he said. "Your plan was well-plotted. But tell me this, why hide your false dominus from us? Why not tell us what you had in place when we first spoke?"

"I did not know you were staying," Hannibal replied. "I did not wish to expose our plan, and wished to protect our way of life for a bit longer."

"He hid me," Will said, stepping outside. His hand was wrapped in linen. "I feared that I would be killed instantly, no questions asked. I have been living in fear from the day this plan began. The horrors that await a slave who poses as a Magister... it kept me quiet for longer than I should have."

"Your resemblance to your dominus is quite a lucky coincidence," Spartacus said. He was looking this boy, Ichneumon, up and down. He was of pristine form, his hair cropped in the style of a Roman noble, his body lean and without the sinews of labor, his nails clipped and clean and his teeth and gums without stains or wear. He was a body slave. But then again, even Nasir, who was the favorite toy of his former dominus, did not look so well-fed, free of the signs of hardship, and cosmetically perfected as this young man.

"I believe that is why he purchased me in the first place," Will explained. "I reminded him of his younger self."

Spartacus cocked his head at Nasir, who had suggested a similar explanation.

"It is doubly lucky," Will added, "because I have been able to convince the notary public of my identity."

He lost his breath a bit while speaking. He looked over at Hannibal, whose face was touched by a small questioning expression.

"I have gathered all of the documentation, including the dominus' seal, in the cubiculum," he went on. "We have the signatures of the notary, all I must do is sign and seal them, and every person on this property will be free."

Spartacus' face broke out in an approving smile.

"Show me," he said.

Will led them into the cubiculum. He opened the desk and pulled out several parchments that were blank except for the notarization at the bottom. They were remnants of a more reclusive time for Will, when even calling a notary or going to visit one seemed to be too much of a social hassle. The notary had been gracious enough to break protocol and grant him a supply in advance. The expression on Hannibal's face when he saw them was nothing short of pride. He put one arm around Will and pulled him against his body. Will smiled, surprising himself with how much he still craved Hannibal's validation.

"It took me a while to stockpile these," Will lied. "We may not yet have enough for everyone, but perhaps we could get away with putting two names to a paper, seeing as our game is up."

"I rather regret ruining it for you," Spartacus apologized. "It was a flawless scheme."

"It needed to be done," Will said. "Now we can make our escape and blame Will Cappanna's death... on you."

Spartacus laughed.

"It's the least we can do for nearly crucifying you!" He clapped him on the back and Will began to tremble a bit. At this, Hannibal embraced him tighter.

Will leaned over the desk and wrote a declaration of freedom for Hannibal and then signed and stamped it with his seal. Hannibal stared at the piece of paper and then looked away with a far-off gaze in his eyes. Will continued to fill out the documents for every slave in his household, including the boy called Ichneumon. He smiled a bit as he wrote that one, wondering what it would have been like for that boy if he had existed. To live a life of slavery and then finally write the words that would set himself free with his own hand. Tears began to well up in his eyes, which was enough to finally set Spartacus at ease. The rebel gladiator seemed quite moved himself. Hannibal watched Will take on his role beautifully, his eyes moving over his lover's face, admiring the ability to manipulate manifesting in him so spontaneously. It was a performance fit for the Greek stage.

Spartacus took the documents and began handing them out to the people in the villa. Some refrained from reaching out until they were coaxed, others grabbed the paper like one stumbling out of the desert who is offered a skin of water. During the distraction, Hannibal and Will began to gather provisions enough to slip away. Their own "forged" documents were secured within their clothing. Hannibal heard the sound of someone approaching very quietly, too quietly to be a rebel just looking for more to eat and drink. He stood up slowly and turned around. Octavio raised his hands to him.

"The slaves are scared." He said. "Some don't even know what's going on. I haven't had the opportunity to find out how many are willing to go along with your facade. Someone will likely reveal you."

"All the more reason to disembark," Hannibal replied.

"I will go with you," Octavio said.

"You are free, Octavio," Hannibal told him. "You can go wherever you wish with that paper Will scribed for you. If you come with us, they will hunt you along with us."

"Where would I go?" Octavio asked. "Today I saw my beloved Dominus' son, who I saw raised from an infant, hanging from the cross. I have never in my adult lifetime felt so afraid. I owe you a great debt, Hannibal. I will not be a burden to you, but please let me go with you and Will."

Hannibal nodded as Will returned from his cubiculum with a modest amount of coin.

"I didn't take much, so they would not feel we stole from them," he explained. "I left the seal. Hopefully, between that and all the papers I drew up, they will not be persuaded to chase after us."

They slipped out as the slaves gathered around the rebels. Those who had not been in the yard when Will was crucified were confused by the papers. They began to huddle together and murmur amongst themselves.

"Where is Dominus?" an older woman cried out and was hushed by another.

Spartacus' eyes narrowed.

"Do you mean Ichneumon?" he asked.

"Who is Ichneumon?" another slave asked.

Hannibal, Will, and Octavio had made it out of sight before everything fell apart inside of the villa. Gannicus looked through the rooms trying to find Hannibal and Ichneumon while Spartacus pressed the slaves for more information. Finally, a young man named Lukas stepped forward.

"There is no Ichneumon," he said. "The Dominus was pretending to be a slave to trick you. Long live the revolution."

He said those last words in an appeasatory tone.

"How could you!" someone admonished him. Lukas shot her a glare.

"Gannicus!" Spartacus called out, "Where are they?"

"Why are you protecting him?" Agron asked the slaves.

"He is a kind man, a good dominus!"

"Even a kind master is still one who thinks that he can own people as though they are beasts!" Lukas replied.

"Truer words have never been spoken," Spartacus said.

"They are gone!" Gannicus called out.

"No!" Crixus roared, "They'll go to Rome and we will be surrounded by nightfall."

"Take the horses and go after them,” Spartacus ordered. “They must be on foot or we would have spotted them by the stable. Nasir, go to Naevia and the other scouts and let them know we are on the lookout."

The rebels roared and dispatched into the night.


End file.
